Going home in the car, at a comparatively early hour, because bishops are supposed to want to go to bed on Sunday evenings, they talked it over. Bunting had heard the news from Barbara, and was inclined to take a serious view of it.
"I think it's disgraceful to throw over a girl like that," he said. "What are you going to do about it, Dad?"
"There's nothing to be done," said his father, "except to help B to forget all about him. Of course she'll be very much hurt, but when she's had time to think it over she'll see for herself that he wasn't worth what she gave him. It won't want any rubbing in. Better leave him alone altogether, and forget about him ourselves."
Caroline put out her hand, and gave his a squeeze. Barbara said: "You were quite right about him, after all, Daddy."
"Well, it looks like it," he answered. "But when somebody else has been hurt you're not going to help them get over it by saying, 'I told you so.' Poor little B has been hurt, and that's all we've got to put right at present."
"There's the show coming on," said Bunting. "That'll interest her. And Jimmy will take care not to badger her at rehearsals. He's a kind-hearted chap, and he'll understand."
"He's a pompous conceited little ass," said Barbara, in whom the remembrance of certain passages of the afternoon still rankled. "But perhaps he'll make her laugh, which will be something."
"He can be very funny when he likes," said Bunting guilelessly.
"Not half so funny as when he doesn't like," returned Barbara. "You know, Daddy, I think B will get over it pretty soon, if we leave her alone. I believe she'd begun to like him not so much."
"You observed that, did you?" said her father. "Well, if it is so it will make it all the easier for her."