"I'm so sorry," he said helplessly. "We must see what we can find."
It was years since he had dared to investigate his own pantries; but under the spur of Miss Arminster's necessities he achieved prodigies of valour, even breaking into that holy of holies, his sister's jam-closet. The little actress aided and abetted him, creating havoc among jars of sardines, olives, and caviare. And then, while they were in the midst of their midnight orgy, a figure appeared before them—a figure clad in an indescribable dressing-gown and carrying a bedroom candle.
"Josephus," said the apparition, "is that you?"
"Yes, my dear," replied the Bishop, with his mouth full of jam tart, "it is."
"I wonder you've the face to enter the house!" said his sister.
"His own house! That's good," commented Miss Arminster from the midst of sardines.
"I admit that the circumstances are unusual," remarked the Bishop, cutting himself another large slice of the pastry, "but the train service is most irregular, and, as you can see, it was necessary to bring the Leopard home to-night, and so—"
"Josephus!" broke in his sister, "there are no leopards in this country, and I can see that to the other sins you have undoubtedly committed you have added the vice of—"
But she got no further, for the Bishop, casting a glance at each of the two women, decided that now or never was salvation at hand, and said brusquely:
"Matilda, go to bed at once!"