ons.
Divination of the hidden interests and emotions of others was one of
his gifts, a gift he had so fostered that sometimes his moves in the
intricate game of life were like strokes of genius. He did not doubt
now that Leigh was in love with his daughter, and for the first time he
was seriously doubtful of her attitude toward a young man. Proud and
beautiful, she had always held herself aloof, with something of fine
scorn, from the frock-coated, silk-hatted, conventional men of her
acquaintance, as if she shared her father's opinion of her worth, as if
she secretly sympathised with the plans she knew he cherished
concerning the completion of the college quadrangle. Was she now to
decline to the level of this fortune hunter, this crude young Westerner?

As for Cardington, of course he loved her, too; but the bishop knew her
too well to suppose that the professor would ever captivate her
imagination. He had always been within her horizon, and he served the
useful purpose, from the bishop's point of view, of distracting her
attention from more formidable aspirants.

That hour of reflection resulted in at least one definite resolve:
Leigh's connection with the college should cease at the expiration of
the year for which he was engaged. Meanwhile, the bishop might need a
rest, and might take Felicity with him to Bermuda, leaving the affairs
of the diocese in the hands of his coadjutor.

Having reached this conclusion, he became aware of the fact that the
procession had long since passed, that the house was very still, and
that Felicity had evidently retired to her room for the night. He got
up and walked aimlessly out into the drawing-room, where the lights
were turned low. He listened at the foot of the stairs, and thought to
call her, but the silence seemed ominous, and for some reason he
forbore. Was she really so deeply hurt that she would not return and
bid him good-night? They had never been demonstrative, but neither
were such affectionate courtesies ever omitted between them. He could
not seek her now and demand an explanation. From such a scene he
shrank instinctively. To-morrow he would begin on a new tack. He
would relegate this absurd difference of opinion between them to the
obscure corner it deserved, where he trusted it would soon die of
neglect. It was indeed fortunate for the bishop's rest that night that
his conjecture concerning his daughter's state of mind fell so far
short of the truth