The Master's entry was greeted with a sort of tittering applause, but these people showed their distinguished manners by not crowding upon him nor annoying him by any persistent scrutiny, as he descended the steps towards the floor of the aisle.
He had already learnt from Lincoln that these were the leaders of existing London society; almost every person there that night was either a powerful official or the immediate connexion of a powerful official.
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.