"The most eloquent preacher in Canada, isn't he, but after all, could a smaller man do his work?"
"Perhaps, in a sort of way, but, of course, not half as well. I think, too, that we have to remember he left the places where he met those of his own kind, and he must miss that."
"But he loves his work."
"Only some of it," put in Mrs. Manson. "I heard him say so. He told me he hated begging, and we all know he has to raise the money to run the diocese as well as spend it."
Mrs. Dibbott shook her head. "A bishop shouldn't have to beg, it's lowering. Don't you think so?"
"It would be to some," said the little woman thoughtfully, "but it couldn't lower our bishop. As for being isolated, of course he is, but so are the rest of us, and I shouldn't be surprised if it's the out of the way places that need the best men, and—goodness! here's Mr. Clark."
Three pairs of very keen eyes fixed on a neat, rather thickset figure that came rapidly toward them. It was but seldom now that Clark was seen in town, and this invested him with more suggestiveness than ever. He stepped off the sidewalk with a somewhat formal salute as they passed. Knowing that he would not pause, Mrs. Dibbott turned and looked after him with a long satisfying stare.
"Not a bit interested in us," she remarked acidly.
"Nor in any woman, I hear," added Mrs. Worden. "There's no room for them in his life. I mean in an emotional way."
"How perfectly fascinating. I'd love to know him."