'Yes, I see,' said Merton; 'it is awkward, very.' The interview, an early one, had lasted for some time. Merton felt that the hour of luncheon had arrived, and, after luncheon, it had been his intention to go up to the University match. He also knew, from various sounds, that clients were waiting in the ante-chamber. At this moment the door opened, and the office boy, entering, laid three cards before him. 'The gentlemen asked when you could see them, sir. They have been waiting some time. They say that their appointment was at one o'clock, and they wish to go back to Lord's.' 'So do I,' thought Merton sadly. He looked at the cards, repressed a whistle, and handed them silently to Miss Crofton, bidding the boy go, and return in three minutes. Miss Crofton uttered a little shriek, and pressed the cards on Julia's attention. Raising her veil, Julia scanned them, wrung her hands, and displayed symptoms of a tendency to faint. The cards bore the names of the Rev. Mr. Bathe, the Rev. Mr. Brooke, and the Rev. Mr. Clancy. 'What is to be done?' asked Miss Crofton in a whisper. 'Can't you send them away?' 'Impossible,' said Merton firmly. 'If we go out they will know me, and suspect Julia.' Miss Crofton looked round the room with eyes of desperate scrutiny. They at once fell on a large old-fashioned screen, covered with engravings, which Merton had picked up for the sake of two or three old mezzotints, barbarously pasted on to this article of furniture by some ignorant owner. 'Saved! we are saved! Hist, Julia, hither!' said Miss Crofton in a stage whisper. And while Merton murmured 'Highly unprofessional,' the skirts of the two ladies vanished behind the screen. Miss Crofton had not played Lady Teazle for nothing. 'Ask the gentlemen to come in,' said Merton, when the boy returned. They entered: three fair young curates, nervous and inclined to giggle. Shades of difference of ecclesiastical opinion declared themselves in their hats, costume, and jewellery. 'Be seated, gentlemen,' said Merton, and they sat down on three chairs, in identical attitudes. 'We hope,' said the man on the left, 'that we are not here inconveniently. We would have waited, but, you see, we have all come up for the match.' 'How is it going?' asked Merton anxiously. 'Cambridge four wickets down for 115, but--' and the young man stared, 'it must be, it is Pussy Merton!' 'And you, Clancy Minor, why are you not converting the Heathen Chinee? You deserve a death of torture.' 'Goodness! How do you know that?' asked Clancy. 'I know many things,' answered Merton. 'I am not sure which of you is Mr. Bathe.' Clancy presented Mr. Bathe, a florid young evangelist, who blushed. 'Armenia is still suffering, Mr. Bathe; and Mr. Brooke,' said Merton, detecting him by the Method of Residues, 'the oven is still hot in the New Hebrides. What have you got to say for yourselves?' The curates shifted nervously on their chairs.