ly about his
salary; that painful allusion to it troubled him. It was just possible
that it came from the one quarter derived from legitimate trade.
Certainly, it was quite possible. But on the other hand, there was an
unquiet suspicion that perhaps it didn't.

The Bishop moved into the dining room, carrying the fat Blue Book
under his arm, and read it carefully during his solitary meal. Those
carefully compiled tables, somehow, did not do credit to what he had
heretofore been pleased to consider the greatest colonising nation in
the world. Were all colonies like that--run on these principles? Yet
the Government, apparently, had felt no hesitation in setting forth
these facts explicitly. Presumably the Government felt justified. Yet
it certainly was not--the word honourable rose to his mind, but he
suppressed it at once--however, nothing else suggested itself. Years
ago, so many years ago that he had lost count, the Bishop had worked
for a time in the East End. He had had clubs and classes, and worked
with the young men. He used to know a good deal about certain things,
and to feel strongly---- But since then he had become prosperous, and
a high dignitary in the Church. Something stirred uneasily in the back
of his mind, as he dawdled over his dinner and turned the pages of the
Blue Book----

Then he went back to the verandah again, and subsided into his long
chair. He sat in darkness, for he disliked the night-flying insects of
the Tropics, and had a nervous horror of them. Lamps made them
worse--brought them in thicker shoals. He gazed out at the twinkling
lights of the vessels at anchor in the harbour. There were many ships
in the roadway to-night, a sight which would ordinarily have pleased
him, but his thoughts were in sharp contrast now to his comfortable,
contented thoughts of a few hours ago.

II

The Bishop spent rather a wakeful night, that is, until about two in
the morning, at which hour he settled his problem and fell asleep. It
finally resolved itself in his mind as a matter for him to let alone.
He could not better it, and had not the smallest intention of making a
martyr of himself, of resigning his office, or of incurring any of the
other disagreeable experiences which beset the path of the moral
crusader. No, he could do nothing, for at two o'clock, as we have
said, he had arrived at the conclusion that the evil--if such it could
be called, since there was considerable doubt on the subject--had