and fork. Who was she? At intervals a high acid
voice could be heard addressing Tom, and a laugh that made me shudder; it
had the quality of the scream of a bird of prey or the yell of a jackal. I
had heard that sort of laugh before, and it always made me feel like a
defenseless rabbit. Every time it sounded I saw Leta's fan flutter more
furiously and her manner grow more nervously animated. Poor dear girl! I
never in all my recollection wished a dinner at an end so earnestly so as
to assure her of my support and sympathy, though without the faintest
conception why either should be required.

The ices at last. A _menu_ card folded in two was laid beside me. I read
it unobserved. "Keep the B. from joining us in the drawing-room." The B.?
The bishop, of course. With pleasure. But why? And how? _That's_ the
question, never mind "why." Could I lure him into the library--the
billiard room--the conservatory? I doubted it, and I doubted still more
what I should do with him when I got him there.

The bishop is a grand and stately ecclesiastic of the mediaeval type,
broad-chested, deep-voiced, martial of bearing. I could picture him
charging mace in hand at the head of his vassals, or delivering over a
dissenter of the period to the rack and thumbscrew, but not pottering
among rare editions, tall copies and Grolier bindings, nor condescending
to a quiet cigar among the tree ferns and orchids. Leta must and should be
obeyed, I swore, nevertheless, even if I were driven to lock the door in
the fearless old fashion of a bygone day, and declare I'd shoot any man
who left while a drop remained in the bottles.

The ladies were rising. The lady at the head of the line smirked and
nodded her pink plumes coquettishly at Tom, while her hawk's eyes roved
keen and predatory over us all. She stopped suddenly, creating a block and
confusion.

"Ah, the dear bishop! _You_ there, and I never saw you! You must come and
have a nice long chat presently. By-by--!" She shook her fan at him over
my shoulder and tripped off. Leta, passing me last, gave me a look of
profound despair.

"Lady Carwitchet!" somebody exclaimed. "I couldn't believe my eyes."

"Thought she was dead or in penal servitude. Never should have expected
to see her _here_," said some one else behind me confidentially.

"What Carwitchet? Not the mother of the Carwitchet who--"

"Just so. The Carwitchet who--" Tom assented with a shrug. "We needn't go
farther, as she's my gues