When he had risen to go Sherman said—“I have a friend coming to visit me in a few days; you will suit each other delightfully. He is very mediæval.”
“Do tell me about him; I like everything mediæval.”
“Oh,” he cried, with a laugh, “his mediævalism is not in your line. He is neither a gay troubadour nor a wicked knight. He is a High Church curate.”
“Do not tell me anything more about him,” she answered; “I will try to be civil to him, but you know I never liked curates. I have been an agnostic for many years. You, I believe, are orthodox.”
As Sherman was on his way home he met a fellow-clerk, and stopped him with—
“No. Why, what is that?”
“Oh, nothing! Good-bye,” he made answer, and hurried on his way.
