“By jove, I didn’t know a bishop could have so much sense!”
“I’m afraid I haven’t expressed it quite right. But you’ll understand what I mean when you have seen more of him.”
Edmund went upstairs mollified and quite cheerful, and I was able to congratulate myself on having restored the situation. For I was a little nervous about the success of my curiously assorted party.
The bishop came down in full episcopal evening splendour, silk stockings, silver buckles, and purple coat.
“The admirable Bates evidently considered these things necessary,” he said, looking down with a sigh. “He left me no alternative.”
“Bates has doubtless scented a nonconformist in Captain Welfare. He would be jealous of the dignity of the church in such company.”
“For myself,” said the bishop, “I would have inclined to any little concession that might soften the dissenter’s preconceived idea of the arrogance of the episcopacy. But Bates’s instinct is probably right.”
“It always is,” I said, and then Welfare came in.
His evening raiment was quite correct and good and gave his heavy face an air almost of distinction. His only marked peculiarity was a brilliant red silk handkerchief folded inside his waistcoat, and showing for about an inch above its opening. I thought it quite an effective patch of colour.
The bishop told me afterwards that it was considered quite essential among the numerous class who had recently adopted the evening dress of civilisation as a ceremonial costume.