e about ten o'clock to-night.'

'How vexing!' exclaimed Dr Pendle. 'I intended going over to Southberry
this evening, but I can't miss seeing George.'

'Ride over to-morrow morning, bishop,' suggested his wife.

'Sunday morning, my dear!'

'Well, papa!' said Lucy, smiling, 'you are not a strict Sabbatarian, you
know.'

'I am not so good as I ought to be, my dear,' said Dr Pendle, playfully
pinching her pretty ear. 'Well! well! I must see George. I'll go
to-morrow morning at eight o'clock. You'll send a telegram to Mr Vasser
to that effect, if you please, Mr Cargrim. Say that I regret not being
able to come to-night.'

'Certainly, my lord. In any case, I am going in to Beorminster this
evening.'

'You are usually more stay-at-home, Mr Cargrim. Thank you, Lucy, I will
take another cup of tea.'

'I do not care for going out at night as a rule, my lord, observed the
chaplain, in his most sanctimonious tone, 'but duty calls me into
Beorminster. I am desirous of comforting poor sick Mrs Mosk at The Derby
Winner.'

'Oh, that is Gabriel's pet invalid,' cried Lucy, peering into the
teapot; 'he says Mrs Mosk is a very good woman.'

'Let us hope so,' observed the bishop, stirring his new cup of tea. 'I
do not wish to be uncharitable, my dear, but if Mrs Pansey is to be
believed, that public-house is not conducted so carefully as it should
be.'

'But _is_ Mrs Pansey to be believed, bishop?' asked his wife, smiling.

'I don't think she would tell a deliberate falsehood, my love.'

'All the same, she might exaggerate little into much,' said Lucy, with a
pretty grimace. 'What is your opinion of this hotel, Mr Cargrim?'

The chaplain saw his opportunity and seized it at once. 'My dear Miss
Pendle, he said, showing all his teeth, 'as The Derby Winner is the
property of Sir Harry Brace I wish I could speak well of it, but candour
compels me to confess that it is a badly-conducted house.'

'Tut! tut!' said the bishop, 'what is this? You don't say so.'

'Harry shall shut it up at once,' cried Lucy, the pretty Puritan.

'It is a resort of bad characters, I fear,' sighed Cargrim, 'and Mrs
Mosk, being an invalid, is not able to keep them away.'

'What about the landlord, Mr Cargrim?'

'Aha!' replied the chaplain, turning towards Mrs Pendle, who had asked
this question, 'he is a man of lax morals. His boon companion is a tramp
called Jentham!'

'Jentham!' repeated Dr Pendle, in so complacent a tone that Cargrim,
with