[Passing Mrs. Cloys, as if about to quit the room.
Mrs. Cloys.
[Touching his arm.] We’ll all keep our tempers, Fletcher. [He remains.] Yes, the thought came to me during the night—a long, anxious night——
Mrs. Emptage.
Ah, indeed!
Mrs. Cloys.
The thought that I would telegraph to the bishop the very first thing this morning.
Sir Fletcher Portwood.
The bishop!
Mrs. Cloys.