‘It is, then, as I expected,’ he said. ‘I am to be denounced and unfrocked. The days of persecution are not yet quite over, I perceive.’
The Bishop flushed angrily.
‘It is absurd to talk of persecution in such a case, Mr. Bradley. Do you yourself conceive it possible that you, bearing such opinions, can remain in the Church?’
‘I do not conceive it possible. Shall I resign at once?’
‘Permit me to think it over, and perhaps to consult with those who in such matters are wiser than myself. I shall do nothing hasty, or harsher than the occasion warrants, be sure of that.’
‘Thank you,’ returned Bradley, with a peculiar smile.
‘You shall hear from me. In the meantime, let me entreat you to be careful. Good morning.’
And with a cold bow the Bishop dismissed his visitor.
On leaving the episcopal residence Bradley went straight to the railway station, had a slight and hasty lunch at the buffet, and then took the midday express to London. Entering a second-class carriage, the only other occupants of which were a burly personage going up for a Cattle Show and a spruce individual with ‘bagman’ written on every lineament of his countenance, he resigned himself to reflections on his peculiar position.