"My wife and I will be pleased if you will come."

Mr. Bishop's face twitched with pleasure. He saw the opportunity of
becoming better acquainted with his lordship; of mentioning one or
two little alterations in his own parish which he had conceived and
approved of, entirely on his own initiative.

"I shall be delighted," he replied--"delighted. Sixty I think you
said?" he added, as he commenced to pour the wine into the silver
altar jug.

"If not more," replied the other, departing to take his place in the
Windle family pew.

Mr. Bishop was left in the vestry, apportioning out sixty separate
quantities of wine--quantities, which he deemed would be sufficient
to seem appreciable to the palates, spiritual and physical, of those
for whom they were intended. You can see him, tilting up the neck
of the black bottle sixty consecutive times, with no sense of the
ludicrous. Sixty--when meted out, it did not seem quite so much as
he had expected. The silver wine-ewer was only a little more than
half full. Supposing there were not enough. He would have to go over
the consecration part of the service again. That would make them very
late. The bishop might be annoyed if he were kept waiting for his
dinner. His lordship was a rigid Churchman, inclined to be somewhat
High Church in his ideas. It was certain that food would not have
passed his lips since the previous night. It would be a pity to find
the Bishop annoyed, just when he had the opportunity of speaking to
him about those little alterations of his own invention, which he
felt sure would raise him in his lordship's estimation.