“Yes, Mr. Francis?”
“This one, I understand, is to be the naked figure of a man.”
“A kind of Apollo—or Jupiter, my dear,” put in Oliver.
Yes—that seemed all right, thought Mabel. Mr. Francis’s voice moved on hastily.
“A new procession enters at this point, after the discourse,” he said. “It is this that will need special marshalling. I suppose no rehearsal will be possible?”
“Scarcely,” said Oliver, smiling.
The Master of Ceremonies sighed.
“I feared not. Then we must issue very precise printed instructions. Those who take part will withdraw, I imagine, during the hymn, to the old chapel of St. Faith. That is what seems to me the best.”
He indicated the chapel.
“After the entrance of the procession all will take their places on these two sides—here—and here—while the celebrant with the sacred ministers—-”