The bishop bounded out of his chair. 'Bell Mosk! the daughter of the landlord of The Derby Winner?'
'Yes, your lordship.'
'The—the—the—barmaid! My son!—oh, it is—it is impossible!'
'I had it from the lips of the young lady herself,' said Cargrim, delighted at the bishop's annoyance. 'Certainly Miss Mosk is hardly fitted to be the wife of a future rector—still, she is a handsome—'
'Stop, sir!' cried the bishop, imperiously, 'don't dare to couple my son's name with that of—of—of a barmaid. I cannot—I will not—I dare not believe it!'
'Nevertheless, it is true!'
'Impossible! incredible! the boy must be mad!'
'He is in love, which is much the same thing,' said Cargrim, with more boldness than he usually displayed before Dr Pendle; 'but to assure yourself of its truth, let me suggest that your lordship should question Mr Gabriel yourself. I believe he is in the palace.'
'Thank you, Mr Cargrim,' said the bishop, recovering from his first surprise. 'I thank you for the information, but I am afraid you have been misled. My son would never choose a wife out of a bar.'
'It is to be hoped he will see the folly of doing so, my lord,' replied the chaplain, backing towards the door, 'and now I shall take my leave, assuring your lordship that I should never have spoken of Mr Gabriel's engagement had I not believed that you were informed on the point.'