“Oh no, Mr. Rector,” said Miss Laetitia, promptly; “they are friends of ours.”
A kind of daïs had been erected at the end of the Sicilian village for the accommodation of the friends of the Rector and other grandees. The distinguished visitors, although they had never seen the Rector before and had no locus standi whatever as far as Saint Agatha’s was concerned, took a bee-line to the daïs, under the direction of Lord Cheriton. But the fact is well known that a peer of the realm feels it his duty to make straight for a platform whenever and wherever he sees one.
The Miss Champneys, whose manner in public was even more impressive than it was in private, shook hands with Lord Cheriton in most stately fashion. Lady Charlotte’s greeting was thought by close observers to be perhaps less elaborate in style, but that she shook hands at a more fashionable angle.
“Introduce me,” said the Rector to Miss Laetitia.
Cheriton prided himself upon being all things to all men. His manner with the Church was agreeably distinct from what it was with Art or Letters, or Law, or the Army, or Sport, or Politics.
“Congratulate you, Mr. Rector, on the success of your bazaar,” he said sonorously. “Admirable hall for the purpose. To my mind nothing is more picturesque than a Sicilian village. The costumes are so rich.”
The Rector of Saint Agatha’s, one of those solemn men who don’t smile easily, was seen to beam in a gratified manner.
Miss Perry enjoyed herself immensely. The first thing she did was to greet Jim’s mother with effusion, and also Jim. The latter, who was assiduously cultivating the commercial instinct, informed his mother that she was sure of one important customer.
“What awfully nice cakes you have!” said Miss Perry.
She had a small pink one to inaugurate the refreshment stall. Promising to return anon, she then made a tour of the Sicilian village. In the fancy bazaar, presided over by Mrs. and the Misses Hobson, she made her second purchase.