Mrs. R. Haslam. Charles, the Bishop of Chelmsford.
Bishop. We have met once before, I think. (Shaking hands.) Now, dear Mrs. Haslam (looking at his watch), I have half an hour to get to Liverpool Street.
Mrs. R. Haslam. You return to Chelmsford to-night?
Bishop. Essential! I have a midnight procession of drunkards. You know they call me "the drunkards' Bishop." I am proud of the title.
Mrs. R. Haslam. (Shaking hands.) Exceedingly good of you to have come.
Bishop. Not at all. The obligation is mine for your forbearance. Now—may I presume on our slight acquaintanceship? If at any time you should think of adding a Bishop to your wonderful gallery of contemporary portraits, and I could be of assistance—need I say more?
Mrs. R. Haslam. I have already drawn two.
Bishop. Really?
Mr. R. Haslam. Suffragans, my dear.