Part 22 (1/2)
”And you, Mary?” Sir Augustus asked suddenly.
”I mean to give my humble aid to this great work,” Mary answered slowly.
”Oh, don't oppose me, uncle--don't forbid me! It would make me so unhappy to do anything that you did not wish. But Jesus calls me--He calls all of us--His voice is ever in my ears.”
”I propose,” Sir Augustus said, at length, ”that you all go into another room and leave me here with my wife. I should like to discuss this with her for a few minutes.”
When the two elder people were alone, their conference was brief and to the point.
”Of course, we shall withdraw all opposition,” said Sir Augustus the worldly. ”The thing has quite changed its aspect. This Joseph fellow is, of course, as mad as a hatter. But he is obviously a gentleman, and, at the same time, quite sincere--another Lluellyn, in fact, though with a good deal more in him. Ducaine's accession to the movement makes all the difference. Joseph will become a fas.h.i.+onable fad, and all sorts of people will join him in search of a new sensation. I'm quite looking forward to it. London will be more amusing than it has been for years.
Then it will all die a natural death, this Joseph will disappear, and Mary will marry Tom Ducaine, the biggest catch in London.”
”It does seem as if Providence was in it, after all,” said Lady Kirwan piously.
”No doubt, no doubt!” the banker answered jovially. ”Just make the girl promise to make this house her home--she shall have perfect freedom to go and come as she pleases, of course--and everything will come right.”
They had settled it to their mutual satisfaction, and were about to send for Mary, when the butler entered the library and announced that the Reverend Mr. Persse had called and asked for her ladys.h.i.+p.
Lady Kirwan was about to say that she was engaged, and could not see the clergyman, when Sir Augustus interposed. ”I think I should see Mr.
Persse, dear,” he said. And then, when the man had gone: ”We'll introduce him to this Joseph. It will be most amusing, and I want a little amus.e.m.e.nt, after being tied by the leg like this for nearly a fortnight. And besides, that humbug Persse will go and tell everyone in Mayfair, and it will give the whole thing a _cachet_ and a send-off!
Don't say anything--leave it all to me.”
Sir Augustus did not like The Hon. Mr. Persse, the fas.h.i.+onable clergyman of Mayfair, and it was with a somewhat sardonic smile that he welcomed him a moment afterwards.
The vicar of St. Elwyn's was a tall, clean-shaven priest, who would have been pompous had he not been so suave. His face was a smooth cream-color, his eyes ingratiating and perhaps a little furtive, while the mouth was mobile and clever. He occupied a somewhat peculiar position among the London clergy. He was an advanced Ritualist, inclining to many ceremonies that were purely Roman and Continental.
But he had very little of the ascetic about him, and was as far removed from the patient, self-denying Anglican clergy of the slum districts in the East End, as four pounds of b.u.t.ter is from four o'clock. St. Elwyn's was one of the ”smartest” congregations in London. The costly splendor of its ceremony, the perfection with which everything was done, attracted pleasure-loving people, who would go anywhere for a thrill that would act as the blow of a whip to jaded and enervated lives.
Mr. Persse ”catered”--the word exactly describes his methods--for precisely that cla.s.s of people whom he was so successful in attracting.
”How do you do, Lady Kirwan?” he said, in a pleasant and gentlemanly voice. ”Ah, Sir Augustus, I hope you are better. It is a trying time of the year. I have called this morning on a somewhat singular errand. I was told, I must not say by whom, that he actually saw your niece, Miss Lys, in the theatre last night--you have read the papers this morning--yes?--in company with this extraordinary mountebank of whom every one is talking. Of course I denied it indignantly. I have met Miss Lys at your house, and I knew such a thing to be impossible. But my informant is, I am sorry to say, a little p.r.o.ne to gossip and t.i.ttle-tattle, and I thought, in justice to you that if I were armed with an authoritative denial, I should be able to nip all such foolish gossip in the bud, before it has time to spread. You know how people talk, dear Lady Kirwan.”
Lady Kirwan certainly knew--and so did Mr. Persse. He was the hero of many afternoon tea-tables, and an active disseminator of gossip.
”My dear Mr. Persse,” Sir Augustus said somewhat emphatically, ”allow me to tell you that you have been _quite_ mistaken in your view of the new movement. The man whom the papers call Joseph is not at all what you think. Sir Thomas Ducaine, for example, is hand and glove with him. I must really correct your ideas on the point. If irregular, perhaps, the mission will be most influential.”
”Oh, ah! I had no idea,” said Mr. Persse, with remarkable mental agility. ”Dear me, is that so, Sir Augustus? Anything that makes for good, of course, must be welcomed by all of us. I myself--”
”I will introduce you to Joseph,” Sir Augustus interrupted, with intense internal enjoyment. ”He happens to be in the house at this moment.”
That afternoon all the evening papers contained an announcement that Joseph, the new evangelist, would preach at St. Elwyn's, Mayfair, after evening service on the morrow--which was Sunday.
What had happened was this:
Joseph had been duly introduced to Father Persse. The latter, in whom the instincts of the theatrical _entrepreneur_ were very largely developed, saw his chance at once. Mayfair would have a sensation such as it had never enjoyed before.
Joseph had promised to preach without any more words than a simple a.s.sent. That there would probably be trouble with the bishop Mr. Persse knew very well. But he was already out of favor in Episcopal quarters, and could hope for nothing in that direction. At the worst, an apology and a promise not to repeat the offence of asking a layman, who was unlicensed by the bishop, to preach in St. Elwyn's, would make everything right. He had made the actual request to Joseph privately, asking leave to have a few moments' conversation alone with him.