"My dear Bishop," said the Duchess, wiping her eyes, "I never had such a compliment paid me. The best-looking bishop on the bench—"
"Do come indoors," he implored. "I can't really let you stand about like this—"
"Thank you, I'm not in the least tired. Go on, Mr. Dremmel."
"Sir, can I see you alone?" said Herr Dremmel, now without any doubt as to the Duchess's forwardness. "On such an occasion as this, before we begin together openly to rejoice it seems fitting we should first by ourselves, unless this lady is your daughter's mother—"
"Oh, oh!" again screamed the Duchess.
The Bishop turned on him in a kind of blaze, quite uncontrollable. "Yes, sir, you can," he said. "Come into my study—"
"What? Are you going to take him away from me?" cried the Duchess.
"My dear Duchess, if he has business with me—" said the Bishop. "I'll take you indoors first," he said, offering her his arm. "This gentleman"—he glared at him sideways, and Herr Dremmel, all unused as he was to noticing hostility, yet was a little surprised at the expression of his face—"will wait here. No, no, he won't, he'll come, too"—for approaching round the bushes behind which grew the pear-tree the Bishop had caught sight of skirts. "Come on, sir—"
"But—" said the Duchess, as the Bishop drew her hand hastily through his arm and began to walk her off more quickly than she had been walked off for years.
"Come on, sir—" the Bishop flung back, almost hissed back, at Herr Dremmel.