He shook his head.
"My husband!"
Maggie Monahan, he didn't even blink. Perhaps in the Bishop's set husbands are not uncommon, or very likely they don't know what a husband like Fred Obermuller means.
"I congratulate you, my child, or—or did it—were you—"
"Why, I'd never seen Fred Obermuller then," I cried. "Can't you tell a difference, Bishop?" I pleaded. "Don't I look like a—an imposing married woman now? Don't I seem a bit—oh, just a bit nicer?"
His eyes twinkled as he bent to look more closely at me.
"You look—you look, my little girl, exactly like the pretty, big-eyed, wheedling-voiced child I wished to have for my own daughter."
I caught his hand in both of mine.
"Now, that's like my own, own Bishop!" I cried. Mag—Mag, he was blushing like a boy, a prim, rather scared little school-boy that somehow, yet—oh, I knew he must feel kindly to me! I felt so fond of him.
"You see, Bishop Van Wagenen," I began softly, "I never had a father and—"