Many had returned from the European Pleasure Cities expressly to welcome
him. The aeronautic authorities, whose defection had played a part in the
overthrow of the Council only second to Graham's, were very prominent,
and so, too, was the Wind Vane Control. Amongst others there were several
of the more prominent officers of the Food Department; the controller of
the European Piggeries had a particularly melancholy and interesting
countenance and a daintily cynical manner. A bishop in full canonicals
passed athwart Graham's vision, conversing with a gentleman dressed
exactly like the traditional Chaucer, including even the laurel wreath.
"Who is that?" he asked almost involuntarily.
"The Bishop of London," said Lincoln.
"No--the other, I mean."
"Poet Laureate."
"You still--?"
"He doesn't make poetry, of course. He's a cousin of Wotton--one of the
Councillors. But he's one of the Red Rose Royalists--a delightful
club--and they keep up the tradition of these things."
"Asano told me there was a King."
"The King doesn't belong. They had to expel him. It's the Stuart blood, I
suppose; but really--"
"Too much?"
"Far too much."
Graham did not quite follow all this, but it seemed part of the general
inversion of the new age. He bowed condescendingly to his first
introduction. It was evident that subtle distinctions of class prevailed
even in this assembly, that only to a small proportion of the guests, to
an inner group, did Lincoln consider it appropriate to introduce him.
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