looking resentfully at a large-faced woman who was talking in an
"intense" manner to a slightly bewildered Bishop.

"It is a prophetic instinct, nothing more."

"I will have a prophetic instinct, too, then," said Hugh, helping
himself at last to the dish which was presented to him, to Rachel's
relief. "I shall give you the--" looking slowly down the table.

"The Bishop?"

"Certainly not, after your disposal of me."

"Well, then, the poet? I am sure he is a poet because his tie is uneven
and his hair is so long. Why do literary men wear their hair long, and
literary women wear it short. I should _like_ the poet."

"You shall not have him," said Hugh, with decision. "I am hesitating
between the bald young man with the fat hand and the immense ring and
the old professor who is drawing plans on the table-cloth."

"The apostle told me with bated breath that the young man with the ring
is Mr. Harvey, the author of _Unashamed_."

Hugh looked at his plate to conceal his disgust.

There was a pause in the buzz of conversation, and into it fell
straightway the voice of the apostle like a brick through a skylight.

"The need of the present age is the realization of our brotherhood with