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Updated: June 25, 2025
Garstein Fellows' garden stood Lady Sunderbund, almost with an effect of waiting, and she greeted the bishop very cheerfully, doubted the immediate appearance of any one else, and led him in the most natural manner into the new but already very pleasant shrubbery.
He lay back in his chair slowly as though he unfolded himself, he covered his eyes with his hand and then groaned aloud. "Leave me alone!" he cried in a voice of agony. "Leave me alone! I can see no one.... I can no more." There was a momentous silence, and then the tumult of Lady Sunderbund receded. THAT night the bishop had a temperature of a hundred and a half.
"I did," he said. "I did," she responded with round blue eyes of wonder. "At the utmost the Church of England is a tabernacle on a road." "A 'oad that goes whe'?" she rhetorized. "Exactly," said the bishop, and put down his cup. "You see, my dear Lady Sunderbund," he resumed, "I am exactly in the same position of that man at the door."
In which case it was clear to him he would have to go to great lengths and exercise very considerable subtlety and magnetism in the management of Lady Sunderbund.... He found himself composing a peculiar speech to her, very frank and revealing, and one that he felt would dominate her thoughts.... She attracted him oddly.... At least this afternoon she had attracted him.... And repelled him....
"I must come in and speak to him. If it is only fo' a moment." The bishop looked up and saw Lady Ella's expression. Lady Ella was sitting up very stiffly, listening but not looking round. A vague horror and a passionate desire to prevent the entry of Lady Sunderbund at any cost, seized upon the bishop. She would, he felt, be the last overwhelming complication. He descended to a base subterfuge.
The architect would be so free that "Absolutely free," interrupted the young architect. "He might, for example, build a temple like a star." "Or like some wondyful casket," said Lady Sunderbund.... And also there was a musician with fuzzy hair and an impulsive way of taking the salted almonds, who wanted to know about religious music.
All his imagination and intelligence was busy now with the possibility of in some way subjugating Lady Sunderbund, and modifying her and qualifying her to an endurable proposition. Why? Why? There could be but one answer, he thought. Brought to the test of action, he did not really believe in God! He did not believe in God as he believed in his family.
The whole gathering had given itself up to the disputation, Lady Sunderbund, an actress, a dancer though she, it is true, did not say very much a novelist, a mechanical expert of some sort, a railway peer, geniuses, hairy and Celtic, people of no clearly definable position, but all quite unequal to the task of maintaining that air of reverent vagueness, that tenderness of touch, which is by all Anglican standards imperative in so deep, so mysterious, and, nowadays, in mixed society at least, so infrequent a discussion.
"We will, we will," said the bishop in a tone that ignored her passionate note. "I am sure Lady Sunderbund will be a great help to us," said Lady Ella. "We want brightening. There's a dinginess...." Lady Sunderbund beamed an acknowledgment. "I shall exact a 'eturn," she said. "I don't mind wo'king, but I shall wo'k like the poo' students in the Middle Ages did, to get my teaching.
This young man pulled the conversation again and again, Lady Sunderbund aiding and abetting, in the direction of the "ideal church." It was his ambition, he said, someday, to build an ideal church, "divorced from tradition." Scrope had been drawn at last into a dissertation.
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