"I don't know that there's anything to be said about the past, father," he began.
"I should think there was a great deal to be said," returned his Lordship brusquely. "But this is perhaps not the best time to say it. I've been told a very astonishing story by Miss Arminster."
"About the Black Maria and—the Spanish plot?"
"About your wretched novel, sir!"
"Ah, yes. Well, I corroborate it all, word for word. Miss Arminster told me about it this morning."
"You've seen her, then?"
"Yes. We had a chat concerning a number of things. But, as you suggest, we might reserve the discussion of our joint American experiences till another occasion, so I won't mention them beyond apologising to you for having blacked your eye under the bar; though of course I could hardly have supposed that your ecclesiastical duties would have placed you in just that position."
"Say, rather, the search for an unregenerate son," suggested the Bishop, with a twinkle in his eye which showed him to be in better humour.
"Well, anyway, you gave as good as you got," said Cecil. "My ribs were sore for a week afterwards."
"Ah," replied his Lordship. "I thought I must have landed you one. I haven't quite forgotten the athletics of my college days."