an
inconsiderable share of the lady's attention.

"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 sits 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--?"

"By counting up his yesterday's figures, generally, I should say;
or else by unrolling a ball of red tape. Well-docketed papers and
statistical facts are his forte."

"And what does a bishop do? Can you tell me that?"

"He sends forth to his clergy either blessings or blowings-up,
according to the state of his digestive organs. But Mrs. Proudie can
explain all that to you with the greatest accuracy."

"Can she now? I understand what you mean, but I don't believe a word
of it. The bishop manages his own affairs himself, quite as much as
you do, or Mr. Harold Smith."

"I, Miss Dunstable?"

"Yes, you."

"But I, unluckily, have not a wife to manage them for me."

"Then you should not laugh at those who have, for you don't know what
you may come to yourself, when you're married."

Mr. Supplehouse began to make a pretty speech, saying that he would
be delighted to incur any danger in that respect to which he might
be subjected by the companionship of Miss Dunstable. But before he
was half through it, she had turned her back upon him, and begun a
conversation with Mark Robarts.

"Have you much work in your parish, Mr. Robarts?" she asked. Now,
Mark was not aware that she knew his name, or the fact of his having
a parish, and was rather surprised by the question. And he had not
quite liked the tone in which she had seemed to speak of the bishop
and his work. His desire for her further acqu