"Is it all right now?" asked Eleanor, drowsily. "No, I'll walk," kicking
herself downward. "But you come wiv me." And the Bishop escorted his
lady-love to her castle, where the warden, Aunt Basha, was for this half
hour making night vocal with lamentations for the runaway.

"Po' lil lamb!" said Aunt Basha, with an undisguised scowl at the
Bishop. "Seems like some folks dunno nuff to know a baby's bedtime.
Seems like de Lawd's anointed wuz in po' business, ti'in' out chillens!"

"I'm sorry, Aunt Basha," said the Bishop, humbly. "I'll bring her back
earlier again. I forgot all about the time."

"Huh!" was all the response that Aunt Basha vouchsafed, and the Bishop,
feeling himself hopelessly in the wrong, withdrew in discreet silence.

Luncheon was over the next day and the two men were quietly smoking
together in the hot, drowsy quiet of the July mid-afternoon before the
Bishop found a chance to speak to Fielding alone. There was an hour and
a half before service, and this was the time to say his say, and he
gathered himself for it, when suddenly the tongue of the ready speaker,
the _savoir faire_ of the finished man of the world, the mastery of
situations which had always come as easily as his breath, all failed him
at once.

"Dick," he stammered, "there is something I want to tell you," and he
turned on his friend a face which astounded him.

"What on earth is it? You look as if you'd been caught stealing a hat,"
he responded, encouragingly.