"You wish to be a priest?" he asked.
Desmond eyed the Bishop in profound surprise, and his Lordship continued:
"How do I guess? Eh? It is not great wisdom nor the black art that has told me your secret. A friend wrote to me——."
"Mrs. Quirk!" cried Desmond.
The Bishop smiled, and his usually stern face relaxed, so that the lines and wrinkles of care smoothed themselves out.
"A friend," he answered, "who was interested in you, and anxious for advice."
"My Lord, I am quite uncertain. I can see which is the better, and which the more difficult."
"Make a retreat, my child; then come to me again."
"Tell me it is impossible, my Lord!" cried Desmond.