hastily asked if her uncle had come to town on business.

"On business--yes--" said the Bishop in an impressive tone. "I had
to see my publisher, who has been behaving rather unsatisfactorily
in regard to my last book."

"Ah--your last book?" faltered Mrs. Fetherel, with a sickening sense
of her inability to recall the name or nature of the work in
question, and a mental vow never again to be caught in such
ignorance of a colleague's productions.

"'Through a Glass Brightly,'" the Bishop explained, with an emphasis
which revealed his detection of her predicament. "You may remember
that I sent you a copy last Christmas?"

"Of course I do!" Mrs. Fetherel brightened. "It was that delightful
story of the poor consumptive girl who had no money, and two little
brothers to support--"

"Sisters--idiot sisters--" the Bishop gloomily corrected.

"I mean sisters; and who managed to collect money enough to put up a
beautiful memorial window to her--her grandfather, whom she had
never seen--"

"But whose sermons had been her chief consolation and support during
her long struggle with poverty and disease." The Bishop gave the
satisfied sigh of the workman who reviews his completed task. "A
touching subject, surely; and I believe I did it justice; at least,
so my friends assured me."