Mrs. Mackintosh paused in her gardening.
"Look here," she said. "Are you going to propose to me next?"
"I—was—thinking of it," admitted the Bishop.
"As a last resource?"
"My dear Mrs. Mackintosh!"
"I don't know as I ever could be a bishopess," replied that lady, inadvertently resetting a pea-plant upside down.
"There's Jonah," said the Bishop, resorting to diplomacy. "I shall never be able to complete that last volume without the spur of your appreciative criticism."
"Well," she replied, partially relenting, "I'd do a good deal for—Jonah."
"Then you will!" he cried.
"I've one row of those peas left," she returned, "and when I've reset them I'll give you your answer. That'll be in fifteen minutes. Now go away, or you'll fidget round, and I sha'n't get 'em straight." And without another word she resumed her digging.