Mrs. Fetherel lifted an undaunted brow. "I'm not afraid," she
proclaimed; and at the same instant she dropped her tea-spoon with a
clatter and shrank back into her seat. "There's the bell," she
exclaimed, "and I know it's the Bishop!"

It was in fact the Bishop of Ossining, who, impressively announced
by Mrs. Fetherel's butler, now made an entry that may best be
described as not inadequate to the expectations the announcement
raised. The Bishop always entered a room well; but, when unannounced,
or preceded by a Low Church butler who gave him his surname, his
appearance lacked the impressiveness conferred on it by the due
specification of his diocesan dignity. The Bishop was very fond of
his niece Mrs. Fetherel, and one of the traits he most valued in her
was the possession of a butler who knew how to announce a bishop.

Mrs. Clinch was also his niece; but, aside from the fact that she
possessed no butler at all, she had laid herself open to her uncle's
criticism by writing insignificant little books which had a way of
going into five or ten editions, while the fruits of his own
episcopal leisure--"The Wail of Jonah" (twenty cantos in blank
verse), and "Through a Glass Brightly; or, How to Raise Funds fora
Memorial Window"--inexplicably languished on the back shelves of a
publisher noted for his dexterity in pushing "devotional goods."
Even this indiscretion the Bishop might, however, have condoned, had
his niece thought fit to turn to him for support and advice at the
painful juncture of her history when, in her own words, it became
necessary for her to invite Mr. Clinch to look out for another
situation. Mr. Clinch's misconduct was of the kind especially
designed by Providence to test the fortitude of a Christian wife and