"No, indeed! But I want very much to make them understand each other better. Why shouldn't the government make use of him? He doesn't wish at all to be thrown into the arms of the other side. But they treat him so badly—"
"My dear Mary! are we governed by the proper people, or are we not?"
"It is no good ignoring the press," said Mary, holding herself gracefully erect. "And the Bishop quite agrees with me."
Lady Tranmore sank back in her seat.
"You discussed it with the Bishop?" It was now some time since Mary had last brought the family Bishop—her cousin, and Lady Tranmore's—to bear upon an argument between them. But Elizabeth knew that his appearance in the conversation invariably meant a fait accompli of some sort.
"I read him some of Mr. Cliffe's letters," said Mary, modestly. "He thought them most remarkable."
"Even when he mocks at missionaries?"
"Oh! but he doesn't mock at them any more. He has learned wisdom—I assure you he has!"
Lady Tranmore's patience almost departed, Mary's look was so penetrated with indulgence for the prejudices of a dear but unreasonable relation. But she managed to preserve it.
"And you knew he was coming home?"