“Bishop,” said she, speaking across the table, “we have missed you so all day! we have had no one on earth to say a word to us.”
“My dear Miss Dunstable, had I known that——But I really was engaged on business of some importance.”
“I don’t believe in business of importance; do you, Mrs. Smith?”
“Do I not?” said Mrs. Smith. “If you were married to Mr. Harold Smith for one week, you’d believe in it.”
“Should I, now? What a pity that I can’t have that chance of improving my faith. But you are a man of business, also, Mr. Supplehouse; so they tell me.” And she turned to her neighbour on her right hand.
“I cannot compare myself to Harold Smith,” said he. “But perhaps I may equal the bishop.”
“What does a man do, now, when he sets himself down to business? How does he set about it? What are his tools? A quire of blotting paper, I suppose, to begin with?”
“That depends, I should say, on his trade. A shoemaker begins by waxing his thread.”
“And Mr. Harold Smith——?”