tic possibilities of a house that was
not of her own choosing.

The room into which they entered appeared to be the bishop's own, or a
guest chamber. At least, there was no suggestion of the feminine in
the furniture, or in the ecclesiastical pictures that adorned the
walls. Even the military brushes on the bureau possessed an episcopal
dignity of size and weight, and the two tall candles in their massive
silver candlesticks glimmered like altar lights.

"There's plenty of atmosphere in this place," Leigh remarked, as he
stood before the mirror and applied the brushes to his hair, which,
because of its thickness, was invariably disordered by the lifting of
his hat. "I mean atmosphere in the modern fictional sense. It seems
to me I saw a duplicate of that four-posted monstrosity of a bed at the
Exposition this summer."

"I love to come in contact with the fresh, unprejudiced view of the
West," Cardington returned. "I've no doubt you are calculating the
number of microbes that ancient piece of furniture could accommodate,
and thinking that a brass bedstead would be much more sanitary."

"You do me injustice," Leigh retorted good-humouredly. "Even
scientists have their unprofessional moments. I was just reminded of a
story I once read of a bed of that kind with a movable canopy that came
down in the night and smothered the occupant."

"Excellent," said Cardington. "The thing was worked, as I remember,
from the room above, and was used by the robber host to persuade his
guests to part peaceably with their valuables. But I fear that you are
going to show an irreverent attitude of mind toward the local
divinities."

"And what may they be?"

"Two in particular, an alliterative couple, Family and Furniture."

"Why not add Folly to the number?" Leigh suggested.

"An instinct of self-preservation should prevent such an addition.
That might be as injudicious as it would have been for some bright
young man in ancient Egypt, five thousand years before the Christian
era, to express a doubt concerning the divinity of the sacred bull.
The correctness of his conjecture would not have saved him from a
horrible death at the hands of the faithful." And he began to lead the
way downstairs.

As they entered the drawing-room, Miss Wycliffe closed her book with
satisfied emphasis and rose to meet them. The bishop was there also,
standing in the background and waiting his turn. His eyes were on his
daughter rather than