"I must hesitate before I trouble your lordship by arguing such difficult questions. I thought it right to tell you the facts after what had occurred. He has gone, she is there,—and there she will remain for the present. I could not turn her out. Thinking her, as I do, worthy of my friendship, I could not do other than befriend her."
"Of course you must be the judge yourself."
"I had to be the judge, my lord."
"I am afraid that the parents of the boys will not understand it."
"I also am afraid. It will be very hard to make them understand it. There will be some who will work hard to make them misunderstand it."
"I hope not that."
"There will. I must stand the brunt of it. I have had battles before this, and had hoped that now, when I am getting old, they might have been at an end. But there is something left of me, and I can fight still. At any rate, I have made up my mind about this. There she shall remain till he comes back to fetch her." And so the interview was over, the Bishop feeling that he had in some slight degree had the best of it,—and the Doctor feeling that he, in some slight degree, had had the worst. If possible, he would not talk to the Bishop on the subject again.
He told Mr. Puddicombe also. "With your generosity and kindness of heart I quite sympathise," said Mr. Puddicombe, endeavouring to be pleasant in his manner.
"But not with my prudence."
"Not with your prudence," said Mr. Puddicombe, endeavouring to be true at the same time.