house in order and carry on. You
meant that, didn't you?"

"Something like that," said Peter; "but as far as the clergy are
concerned, I still think the Bishops ought to pick their men."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Mr. Lessing, stretching himself a bit. "But I
don't think the clergy could be much use over there. As the Canon said,
there will be plenty to do at home. In any case it would be no use
rushing the Bishops. Let them see what's needed, and then let them choose
their men, eh? A man like London's sure to be in the know. Good thing
he's your Bishop, Graham: you can leave it to him easily?"

"I should think so, sir," said Peter forlornly.

"Oh, well, glad to hear you say it, I'm sure, Graham, and so will Mrs.
Lessing be, and Hilda. We're old-fashioned folk, you know.... Well, well,
and I suppose I oughtn't to keep you. I'll come with you to the door, my
boy."

He walked ahead of the young man into the hall, and handed him his hat
himself. On the steps they shook hands to the fire of small sentences.
"Drop in some evening, won't you? Don't know if I really congratulated
you on the sermon; you spoke extraordinarily well, Graham. You've a great
gift. After all, this war will give you a bit of a chance, eh? We must
hear you again in St. John's.... Good-afternoon."

"Good-afternoon, Mr. Lessing," said Graham, "and thank you for all you've
said."

In the street he walked slowly, and he thought of all Mr. Lessing had not
said as well as all he had. After all, he had spoken sound sense, and
there was Hilda. He couldn't lose Hilda, and if the old man turned out
obstinate--well, it would be all but impossible to get her. Probably
things were not as bad as he had imagined. Very likely it would all be
over by Christmas. If so, it was not much use throwing everything up.
Perhaps he could word the letter to the Bishop a little differently. He
turned over phrases all the way home, and got them fairly pat. But it was
a busy evening, and he did not write that night.

Monday always began as a full day, what with staff meeting and so on, and
its being Bank Holiday did not make much difference to them. But in the
afternoon he was free to read carefully the Sunday papers, and was
appalled with the swiftness of the approach of the universal cataclysm.
After Evensong and supper, then, he got out paper and pen and wrote,
though it took much longer than he thought it would. In the end he begged
the Bishop to remember him if it wa