Mr. Heard felt slightly relieved. What a sensible fellow this was; so matter-of-fact and sure of his ground. The ideal scholar. Sirocco did not exist for him. He stood aloof from human passions and infirmities.
It was plain that the bishop had never heard that story about the
BALLON CAPTIF.
"For my part," he said, "I am beginning to object to this south wind. I never felt it worse than to-day. Phew! Stifling! One can hardly breathe. My shirt is sticking to my back. Suppose we sit down somewhere?"
They found a bench, in view of the sea and the volcano. The population moved sedately up and down before their eyes.
"Is it always like this?" enquired Mr. Heard.
"Spring is a little warmer than usual. Or perhaps one should say that summer has begun earlier. The sirocco is the same, year after year, although there is a kind of conspiracy among the foreign residents to say that it happens to be worse than usual that particular season. It never varies."
"What does your Perrelli say on the subject?"
Mr. Eames glanced at him distrustfully.
"You are trying to chaff me," he said. "Serves me right for talking so much this morning. I am afraid I bored you dreadfully."
The bishop wanted to know.