procures you a visit from a social star like Mrs. Molyneux. But where
are you going to put her? Not in the bachelor's room, where your poor
uncle made such a night of it? It wouldn't hold her dressing bag, let
alone herself."

"Oh, but I hope the pink room will be ready. The plasterer from Whitford
came out yesterday to apologise, and said he had been keeping his
birthday."

"Indeed! and how many times a year does he have a birthday?"

"I don't know, but he was quite sober; and he did the most of it
yesterday and will finish it to-day, so it will be all right."

"When is she coming, then?"

"To-morrow. You would have seen that if you had read the letter. And
there is a message for you in it, too."

"Then find me the place, like an angel; I cannot wade through all these
sheets of hieroglyphics. In the postscript? Let me see: 'Tell Sir George
I look forward to explaining to him the religious teaching which I have
been studying for months.' Months! Come; there must be something in a
religion which Mrs. Molyneux sticks to for months at a time--'studying
for months under the guidance of its great apostle Baron Zinkersen--'
What is this name? 'The deeper I go into it all the more I feel in it
that faith, satisfying to the reason as well as to the emotions, for
which I have been searching all my life. It is certainly the religion of
the future'--future underlined--'and I believe it will please even Sir
George, for it so distinctly coincides with his own favourite theories.'