"Oh, mercy! You—you don't—"
"I am a detective for the store, and—"
"But—"
"Sh! We don't like any noise made about these things, and you yourself wouldn't enjoy—"
"Do you know who I am, young woman?" She fumbled in her satchel and passed a card to me.
Glory be! Guess, Mag. Oh, you'd never guess, you dear old Mag! Besides, you haven't got the acquaintance in high society that Nance Olden can boast.
+--------------------------------+
| Mrs. MILLS D. VAN WAGENEN |
+--------------------------------+
Oh—Mag! Shame on you not to know the name even of the Bishop of the great state of—yes, the lean, short little Bishop with a little white beard, and the softest eye and the softest heart and—my very own Bishop, Nancy Olden's Bishop. And this was his wife.
Tut—tut, Mag! Of course not. A bishop's wife may be a kleptomaniac; it's only Cruelty girls that really steal from stores.
"I've met the Bishop, Mrs. Van Wagenen." I didn't say how—she wouldn't appreciate that story.