"I can, I will," said the bishop. "I will use my brains."
It was a happy thought. The bishop mused. There was a knock at the outer door. It was a double, a telegraphic knock.
"From the duchess?" asked the bishop.
"From Bob, or I am a bishop," said the peer.
And Ridley gave him a telegram. Bradstock read it slowly, lifted his eyebrows, rubbed his handsome white head, and handed it to the bishop.
"From Bob, bishop, a very remarkable Bobbish document."
The bishop read it.
"It certainly is a remarkable document, a very remarkable document, indeed," said his lordship. "I see it was handed in at Lincoln. She won't say who it is because she has quarrelled with him. With her husband, that is to say. She will not let Bob come back. She quarrelled with him because he said he was married to her. Very remarkable! Somewhat confusing. But it is a relief to hear that the baby is not black, Bradstock."
Bradstock was pessimistic.
"It may be half-black," he said, mournfully.