"The faults we are hardest on in others are those we are most conscious of in ourselves—perhaps because we know how easy it would be to conquer them," Ideala observed vaguely.
"Oh, come, now, my dear," said the Bishop, beaming round on all of us, "you must not believe what you hear about society being in such a bad state. I know idle people say so, and it is very wrong of them. Why, I never see anything wrong."
"Of course not," said Ideala. "We are all on our best behaviour before you."
The Bishop patted his apron good-humouredly. "Well, now, take yourself for example," he said. "I am sure you never do wrong—tell stories, you know, and that kind of thing."
"Haven't I, though!" she answered, mischievously. "Not that it was much use, for I always repented and confessed; and now I have abandoned the practice to the best of my ability. It is horrid to feel you don't deserve the confidence that is placed in you, Bishop, isn't it?"
"Ideala!" Claudia protested.
The Bishop looked puzzled.
"I can assure you I have suffered agonies of remorse because, in an idle moment, I deceived my cat—a big, comfortable creature, who used to come to me every day to be fed, and preferred to eat out of my hand. He was greedy, though, and snapped, and one day I offered him a piece of preserved ginger, and he dashed at it as usual, and swallowed it before he knew what it was. Then he just looked at me and walked away. He trusted me, and I had deceived him. It was an unpardonable breach of confidence, and I have always felt that I never could look that cat in the face again."
The Bishop smiled and sighed at the little reminiscence. "I think you are right, though, in one way, Ideala," he presently observed. "The powers of Light and Darkness are certainly having a hard fight for it in our day; but we have every reason to hope.
Oh, yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill."