."

"You hit it precisely," answered Brother Copas, "as only a Protestant
can. His eye is always upon his neighbour's defects, and I never
cease to marvel at its adeptness. . . . Well, I do seem to owe you an
apology. But I cannot agree that the Bishop was bored. To me he
appeared to listen very attentively."

"He affected to, while he could: for he saw that you were playing his
game. His whole object being to head off our Petition while
pretending to grant it, the more nonsense you talked, within limits,
the better he was pleased."

Brother Copas pondered a moment.

"Upon my word," he chuckled, "it was something of a feat to take a
religious cock-pit and turn it into an Old Men's Mutual Improvement
Society. Since the Wesleyans took over the Westminster Aquarium--"

"You need not add insult to injury."

"'Injury'? My good Warboise, a truce is not a treaty: still less is
it a defeat. . . . Now look here. You are in a raging bad temper
this evening, and you tell yourself it's because the Bishop, with my
artless aid, has--as you express it--put you in the cart. Now I am
going to prove to you that the true reason is a quite different one.
For why? Because, though you may not know it, you have been in a
raging bad temper ever since this business was broached, three months
ago. Why again? I have hinted the answer more than once; and now I
will put it as a question. _Had Zimri peace, who slew his Master?_"

"I do not understand."

"Oh yes, you do! You are in a raging bad temper, being at heart more
decent than any of your silly convictions, because you have wounded
for their sake the eminent Christian gentleman now coming towards us
along the river-path. He has been escorting the Bishop for some
distance on his homeward way, and has just parted from him.
I'll wager that he meets us without a touch of resentment. . . .
Ah, Brother, you have cause to be full of wrath!"

Sure enough the Master, approaching and recognising the pair, hailed
them gaily.

"Eh? Brother Copas--Brother Warboise--a fine evening! But the
swallows will be leaving us in a week or two."

For a moment it seemed he would pass on, with no more than the usual
nod and fatherly smile. He had indeed taken a step or two past them
as they stood aside for him in the narrow path: but on a sudden
thought he halted and turned about.

"By the way--that sick friend of yours, Brother Warboise. . . .
I was intending to ask about him. Paraly