of which the well-connected among the Anglican
      clergy (and their wives) alone possess the secret.  ’I may tell
      you, my dear lad, that this visit to Venice has been a dream of
      my life, cherished though long deferred.  I had not your
      advantages when I was a young man.  The Grand Tour was denied
      me; and a country curacy with an increasing family promised to
      remove the realization of my dream to the Greek Kalends. 
      But in all those years I never quite lost sight of it. 
      There is a bull-dog tenacity in us British:  and still from time
      to time I renewed the promise to myself that, should I survive
      my dear wife—­as I hoped to do—­’

     “Here, having trimmed my lantern, I straightened myself up to
      find that Mr. Badcock had returned and was standing behind my
      shoulder.  To my amazement he was trembling like an aspen.

    “‘Hush!’ said he, when I would have asked what ailed him.

     “I listened.  I suppose Lord Algernon responded with a polite
      hope that Venice fulfilled his uncle’s long expectation:  but I
      could not catch the words.

    “‘Entirely so,’ was the reply.  ’I may even say that it surpasses
      them.  Such an experience enlarges the mind, the—­er—­outlook. 
      And if a man of sixty can confess so much, how happy should you
      be, my dear Algy, to have received these impressions at your
      age!  Yet, my dear lad, remember they are of value only when
      received upon a previous basis of character.  The ladies, for
      instance, who own these delightful grounds . . . doubtless they
      are devout, in their way, but in a way how far removed from
      those God-fearing English traditions which one day, as a
      landlord among your tenantry and to that extent responsible for
      the welfare of dependent souls, it will be yours to foster!’

“Here, warned by a choking cry, I put out a hand to catch Mr. Badcock by the sleeve of his pallium:  but too late!  With a wild gesture he broke loose from me and plunged down the pergola towards the arbour, at the entrance of which he flung himself on his knees.

    “‘Oh, sir!’ he panted, abasing himself and stretching forth both
      hands to the archidiaconal gaiters.  ’Oh, sir, have pity! 
      Teach me to be saved!’

“The Archdeacon (I will say) after the momentary shock rose to the occasion like a sportsman.  A glance sufficed to assure him that the poor creature was in earnest, and with great presence of mind he felt in his pocket for a visiting-card.

    “’Certainly, my good fellow, certainly . . . if you will call on
      me to-morrow at my lodgings . . . two doors from the
      embassy. . . .  Dear me, how provoking!  Would you mind,
      Algernon, lending me one of your cards?  I remember now leaving
      mine on the dressing-table.’