The bishop had not heard of the new Bunting, and listened to Bob's story with great interest.
"The world is a very surprising place," said the bishop, with emphasis; "a very surprising place indeed. We do not need to go to Africa for new things. We are surrounded by the unexpected, by the marvellous. Bob's delightful story makes me feel that no one can reckon with certainty upon anything. I am half-inclined to think that this new Bunting must be a relation of the other Bunting, and that Penelope has met him, been struck with him, and has married him and lives in temporary retirement, while her husband struggles with Thucydides under a sofa. But after to-morrow we shall know more."
"I hope so," said Bradstock.
"I feel sure of it," said the bishop.
And Bob went to bed.
"Do you know, Bradstock," said the bishop, as he stroked his leg, which was a very reasonable leg for a bishop, "I wonder you didn't think I had married Penelope."
"Good heavens!" said Bradstock, "have you?"
"Certainly not," replied the bishop, "but it is odd she should be near Spilsborough, isn't it?"
"She must be somewhere," said Bradstock, rather irritably. "Hang it! the girl must be somewhere."
"When you think of it, she must," said the bishop. "Yes, yes, you are right. Still, Spilsborough—yes, it's odd, but not remarkable. As you say, she must be somewhere. I hope it's not the Jew, Bradstock."