day in Dublin when I
spoke to you about Lalage's Jun. Soph. Ord."

I could see that the Archdeacon was uncomfortable. He had certainly
entertained suspicions when we parted in St. Stephen's Green, though he
might now pretend to have forgotten them.

"You thought so then," I went on, "though it was quite early in the
day."

"Not at all. I happened to be in a hurry. That is all. I knew perfectly
well it was only your manner."

"I don't blame you in the least. Anybody might have thought just as you
did."

"But I didn't. I knew you were upset at the time. You were anxious
about Lalage Beresford. She's a charming girl, with a very good heart,
but----"

The Archdeacon hesitated.

"But----" I said, encouraging him to go on.

"Did you hear," he said, anxiously, "that she intends to take part in
the episcopal election? A rumour to that effect has reached me."

"I have it on the best authority that she does."

"Tut, tut," said the Archdeacon. "Do you tell me so? Tut, tut. But
that is quite impossible and most undesirable, for her own sake most
undesirable."

"We're all relying on you to prevent scandal."

"Your uncle, Lord Thormanby----"

"He'll put her in her place. He's promised to do so. And that will be
all right as far as it goes. But the question is will she stay there.
That's where you come in, Archdeacon. Once she's in her place it will be
your business, as Archdeacon, to keep her there."

"I'll speak to her father about it," said the Archdeacon. "Beresford
must put his foot down."

"He's going to Brazil. He told me so."

"We can't have that. He must stay here. It's perfectly impossible for
him to leave the country at present. I'll see him this evening."

I told my mother that night that I had studied the situation long enough
and was fully determined to cast my vote for the Archdeacon.

"He is thoroughly well fitted to be a bishop," I said. "He told me
to-day that my knowledge of foreign affairs would be most valuable to
the government whenever questions of imperial policy turned up."

My mother seemed a little puzzled.

"What has that got to do with the bishopric?" she asked.

"The remark," I said, "shows me the kind of man the Archdeacon is. No
one who was not full of suave dignity and sympathetic diplomacy could
have said a thing like that. What more do you want in a bishop?"

"A great deal more," said my mother, who takes these church questions
seriously.

"He also undertook," I said,