"Ah," sighed Mrs. Ward, "bishops are so particular."
"I find them delightful," said Dorothy, filling in the pause.
"Of course, my dear, because they talk of Renan and missionaries and those sort of dry things. I remember the Bishop of Timbuctoo, or Central Africa, or some of those places one never heard of, telling me how his old curate was eaten alive by blacks and mosquitoes. I quite forget which; but he was eaten."
"I trust the blacks and mosquitoes didn't find the curate tough."
"I'm sure I don't know. He was just thirty, I believe, and bald."
"You said he was an old curate."
"Oh, dear me, Dorothy how can you expect me to explain what I mean?--at dinner, too. I mean he was young in years and old in saintliness. Do try this dish, Mr. Train? It is so good."
Leonard did try it, and did full justice to the merits of Mrs. Ward's cook. She kept a particularly good chef, as she knew the value of good cooking. "People like nice things to eat," she explained to Leonard, while Dorothy labored to entertain Vane. "It makes one so popular if one's chef can always be relied upon. I have known a woman's position ruined by inattention to the kitchen. One can break all the ten commandments if only one feeds the men." Then, thinking she had said too much, she added sweetly, "But of course I am only joking, Mr. Train, as one must be good and all that sort of thing."
"I'm sure you are all that is good and kind, Mrs. Ward."
"Now, that's really very nice of you. Mr. Brendon would never say a really nice thing like that. Of course he's a great friend of yours, isn't he? and he stopped with you when that poor woman----"