it.
I've been told a very astonishing story by Miss Arminster."

"About the Black Maria and--the Spanish plot?"

"About your wretched novel, sir!"

"Ah, yes. Well, I corroborate it all, word for word. Miss Arminster told
me about it this morning."

"You've seen her, then?"

"Yes. We had a chat concerning a number of things. But, as you suggest,
we might reserve the discussion of our joint American experiences till
another occasion, so I won't mention them beyond apologising to you for
having blacked your eye under the bar; though of course I could hardly
have supposed that your ecclesiastical duties would have placed you in
just that position."

"Say, rather, the search for an unregenerate son," suggested the Bishop,
with a twinkle in his eye which showed him to be in better humour.

"Well, anyway, you gave as good as you got," said Cecil. "My ribs were
sore for a week afterwards."

"Ah," replied his Lordship. "I thought I must have landed you one. I
haven't quite forgotten the athletics of my college days."

"Then we're quits," returned Cecil. "But it was more than good of you to
come out there and look for me. A father who could do all that deserves
a somewhat better son than I've been in the past; and in the future--"

"Don't say it, Cecil. I know it." And the Bishop gripped his hand in a
way that caused the mental and moral atmosphere to clear instantly.

"And now," said his son, "I want to talk about Miss Arminster."

"It's the subject nearest my heart," replied his father.

"I asked her to marry me at Montreal," Cecil remarked simply.

"So I inferred from what she said on the yacht," said his Lordship.

"And you proposed to her yesterday."

"Did she tell you?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Well, the fact is she doesn't want to marry either of us."

The Bishop nodded his head despondently.

"But," continued the younger man, "she contemplates marrying some one
else."

"Ah," said his Lordship, "I'm heartily glad she proposes to
_marry_--after yesterday."

"Quite so, and she means to ask you to perform the ceremony."

"Isn't that rather--"

"Rubbing it in?" suggested Cecil. "So it seemed to me."

"Who is the--er--prospective bride-groom?"

"Spotts."

"He seems a good fellow."

"Yes, but--will you forgive me if I speak frankly? There can't be any
feeling of jealousy between us; we've both been worsted."

"What do you wish to say?"

"That I'm afraid this marriage must not be permitted. You