"You understand quite rightly. It would have done you good, Mr Boulter, to have heard that sermon. Had you done so, you would understand how strong would be the Bishop's opposition to any renewal of the lease of 'The Rose and Crown.'"
"Indeed!" Mr Boulter's tone was dry. "I am not so sure of that."
The Dean stared. The man's manner was so very odd.
"Be so good, Mr Boulter, as to say plainly what it is you mean."
"I don't know what you think, sir, of a bishop who comes straight from preaching a sermon on temperance into my public-house."
"Mr Boulter!"
"It's no good you're looking at me like that, sir. I was surprised, I don't mind owning it. But just let me tell my tale."
The Dean let him tell his tale.
"Yesterday afternoon I was standing at my private door, looking out into the street. It was getting dusk. The service in the cathedral was over, and I thought that everyone had gone. All of a sudden I saw the little door open which we call the Dean's door, and which you know is right in front of my house. Someone came out and walked quickly across the street towards my place. I drew back and went inside. When I got inside the bar I saw that there was some one in a little compartment which only holds about two comfortably, and which I call a private wine-bar. I heard him ask Miss Parkins, one of my young ladies, if we had such a thing as a glass of good sound port."
The Dean shuddered--he scarcely knew why. The fact is that port was the liquid of which the Bishop, in his less stalwart days, had been esteemed such an excellent judge.