“A canon!” I repeated, feebly. “Do you mean it, Alice?”
She nodded.
“The Bishop came here from Lady Naselton’s. He said a lot of nice things to father about his sermon on—that Sunday night—you remember.”
“It was a wonderful sermon,” I whispered.
“So the Bishop thinks; so every one thinks,” Alice declared, with enthusiasm. “I shall never forget how I felt. And he had no notes, or anything.”
“It was the most realistic sermon I ever heard,” I said, with a little shudder. “It was like a scene from a play. It was wonderful.”
Alice looked up at me quickly. Doubtless my voice had betrayed some agitation. She laid her hand upon my arm.
“Don’t think about it this evening,” she begged. “I quite forgot father especially forbade my speaking of it to you. It must have been terrible for you to have been so near it all. I can’t imagine what I should have done. I could see nothing from the organ screen, you know.”
I leaned over and looked at her.
“Alice, I do not want to talk about it, but I want to know how it ended. You must tell me that.”