The Bishop of Oxton hurried in: a slight, bent man past the prime of life with a domed head which seemed too large for the small and delicate features beneath. His short-sighted, prominent eyes held a look of chronic bewilderment, and about his thin lips hovered a smile, sweet and deprecating, as though he felt perpetual astonishment at the high position thrust upon him.
"I fear I'm a trifle late," he said, shaking hands with Mrs. Cadell—"the fact is I have been detained by a matter of business in the City." He beamed affectionately at Cydonia, with an absent-minded glance towards McTaggart.
The hostess introduced the men.
"Ah yes." The Bishop blinked. "I fancy we have met before—at my cousin's, Lady Leason."
"That's curious." McTaggart laughed—"I've just this moment come from her, hot-foot on a begging errand."
"Then I'm sure," the Bishop responded suavely, "that your mission will not be in vain! This is the house of Charity."
The butler, to emphasize the fact, announced that the prelate's lunch was served.
McTaggart began to take his leave, but his hostess would not hear of it.
"You must stay and lunch with us—we have to decide about the Tableaux."
"I've half promised a man at the Club..." He offered the well-worn excuse, but Mrs. Cadell moved to the door.