"You know, Helen, that I am engaged."
"That! for your engagement," said Mrs. Lorrington, taking a rose and tossing it toward her. "I know you are engaged. But I thought that if the Bishop would only get into one of his dead-earnest moods—he is capable of it—you would have to yield. For you are capable of it too."
"Capable of what? Breaking a promise?"
"Do not be disagreeable; I am complimenting you. No; I mean capable of loving—really loving."
"All women can love, can they not?"
"Themselves! Yes. But rarely any one else. And now let me tell you something delightful—one of those irrelevant little inconsistencies which make society amusing: I am going to drive with the Bishop this morning, and not you at all."
"I hope you will enjoy the drive."
"You take it well," said Mrs. Lorrington, laughing merrily. "But I will not tease you, Crystal. Only tell me one thing—you are always truthful. Has anything been said to you—anything that really means anything—since you have been here?"
"By whom?" said Anne, almost in a whisper.
"The Bishop, of course. Who else should it be?"