"I should very much enjoy hearing Miss Thompson sing." The bishop bowed gallantly.
"You're just in time. Miss Thompson has promised to sing her favorite song, and—er—I was saying it would be rather nice to have it in the dark with—er—the organ accompaniment."
Betty opened her eyes at the glibness of Bob's invention.
"To be sure," approved his lordship. "In the dark, by all means, with the storm raging outside. Bless my soul! Look at that rain!"
The water was coming down in sheets and torrents, lashing the library windows and seething over the glass roof of the conservatory.
"It sounds like a Belasco melodrama," laughed Bob.
"Yes, yes, quite so," murmured the bishop, not understanding in the least this allusion. "And what is your favorite song, my dear?" he asked Betty.
"Oh, I would never have the courage to sing before you," she declared.
"Besides, it's so much more interesting to talk. We'll have some lights and some tea, and—you must tell us what brings you to this part of the world?"
"Why, don't you know? Didn't you tell her?" The churchman turned to Bob in surprise.