"I had no idea," exclaimed Miss Blunket, when the Bishop's apron and silk stockings had moved with the Rev. Dives Marlowe to the opposite extremity of the drawing-room, where the attentive Rector was soon deep in demonstrations, which evidently interested the right reverend prelate much, drawn from some manuscript notes of an ancestor of Dives's who had filled that see, which had long known him no more, and where he had been sharp in his day in looking up obscure rights and neglected revenues.
"I had no idea the Bishop was so young; he's by no means an old-looking man; and so very admirable a prelate—is not he?"
"He has neglected one of St. Paul's conditions though," said Sir Jekyl; "but you will not think the worse of him for that. It may be mended, you know."
"What's that?" inquired Miss Blunket.
"Why, he's not the husband of one wife."
"Nonsense, you wretch!" cried Miss Blunket, with a giggle, jerking a violet which she was twiddling between her fingers at the Baronet.
"He has written a great deal, has not he?" continued Miss Blunket. "His tract on mortification has gone to fifteen thousand copies, I see by the newspaper."
"I wonder he has never married," interposed Lady Blunket, drowsily, with her usual attention to the context.
"I wonder he never tried it as a species of mortification," suggested Sir Jekyl.
"You horrid Vandal! Do you hear him, mamma?" exclaimed Miss Blunket.