"It seems to me," the bishop began with increased severity, "that you have no respect for anybody."
"No, I have not," she answered decidedly—"at least not for bishops and doctors who let Menteith miscreants loose in society to marry whom they please."
The bishop winced.
"I am sorry to have to reprove you seriously," he recommenced, shaking his head. "But I feel that I should not be doing my duty if I neglected to point out to you the extremely reprehensible nature of your conduct, first in causing grievous distress of mind to Edith, in consequence of which partly she is now lying dangerously ill upstairs—"
Angelica stopped him by suddenly assuming a dignified position on her chair. She looked hard at him, and as she did so great tears came into her eyes, and ran down her cheeks. "If I have done Edith any injury," she exclaimed, "I shall never forgive myself."
"Well, well," said the bishop kindly—
"But do you think I was so much to blame?" Angelica demanded, interrupting him. "I only did what you and Mrs. Beale and everybody else did—took it for granted that she had married a decent man. But go on," said Angelica, throwing herself back in her chair, and folding her arms. "What else have I done?"
"You have grievously injured a fellow-creature."
"Oh,'fellow' if you like, and 'creature' too," said Angelica; "but the injury I did him was a piece of luck for which I expect to be congratulated."
"You took the sacred word of God," the bishop began—