III
IN the Gazebo at the extremity of the garden, by the new parterre, Miss Sinquier, in a morning wrapper, was waiting for the post.
Through the trellis chinks, semicircular, showed the Close, with its plentiful, seasoned timber and sedate, tall houses, a stimulating sequence, architecturally, of whitewash, stone and brick.
Miss Sinquier stirred impatiently.
Wretch—! to deliver at the Palace before the Deanery, when the Deanery was as near!
“Shower down over there, Oh Lord, ten thousand fearsome bills,” extemporaneously she prayed, “and spare them not at all; Amen.”
Hierarchic hands shot upwards.
Dull skies.
She waited.
Through the Palace gates, at length, the fellow lurched, sorting as he came.