But this is all by the way, and it only shows that a real financier in love or in despair is just as dangerous as at other times. Bob and the bishop talked the situation over in Spilsborough while Gordon was going to town, and the result was what might have been expected.
"All we know is that Penelope, poor dear Penelope is near Spilsborough," said the bishop.
"And that she's married," said Bob.
"We infer that from general grounds, our knowledge of her character," said the logical bishop. "Strictly we cannot be said to know it. It is not a primary datum of consciousness, nor is it a judgment or a purely rational conclusion, Bob."
"Oh," said Bob, "well, perhaps not."
"I think," said the bishop, "that I shall write to her—"
"Where to?"
"To everywhere," said the bishop, "and ask her to come and confide in me. And in the meantime, as the others have gone, and your presence here is no longer necessary, I think you should go home and console your grandmother, and apply yourself to work."
"All right," said Bob; "I don't think it's interesting here any more. But are you glad I came in time to stop the duel?"
"I am glad," said the bishop. "But, to tell the truth, Robert, I should not have allowed a duel on Mr. Dean's ancient grass and under his immemorial elms without a remonstrance, even a physical remonstrance."