to waste on that sort of thing," he said, "why not
devote it to living bishops instead of one who has been dead over a
thousand years?"

The idea of investigating the origins of our existing bishops was new
to me but not in the least attractive.

"Wouldn't it be rather waste of labour," I said, "to build up an
hypothesis about the birthplace of a living bishop when--"

"It's certainly waste of labour to build up an hypothesis about a dead
one."

"I meant to say," I added, "that if one did want to know such a
thing--"

"Nobody does," said McNeice.

"It would," I went on, "be much simpler to write and ask him."

I gathered from the way in which he spoke that McNeice did not like
bishops; but I was not prepared for the violence of the speech which
he made to me after dinner. Marion and Power were at the piano, which
stands in a far-off corner of my rather oversized drawing-room.
McNeice settled himself in front of the fire, his long legs straddled
far apart, the bow of his white tie twisted under his ear. He is a man
of singularly ferocious appearance. He has very bushy eyebrows which
meet across the bridge of his nose, shining green eyes, a large jaw
heavily underhung, and bright red hair.

He addressed me for more than half an hour on the subject of bishops
in general. I should be very sorry to write down the things he said.
Some of them were quite untrue. Others were utterly unjust. It is
quite wrong, for instance, to impute it as a crime to a whole class of
men that their heads are bald. Nobody can help being bald if his hair
will not grow any more than he can help being fat if his stomach will
swell. Fatness was another of the accusations which McNeice hurled
against the bishops. I suppose this violent hatred of an inoffensive
class of men was partly the result of McNeice's tremendous
Protestantism. The poet Milton, I think, felt in the same way about
the prelates of his day. Partly it may have been the expression of his
naturally democratic temperament. Bishops like to be called "my lord"
by servants and clergymen. McNeice, I imagine, has a quite evangelical
dislike of such titles. I dare say that it was the fact of my being a
lord which made him so rude to me.

On the afternoon of my garden-party I happened to be standing close
beside Lady Moyne when she was saying good-bye to the Dean. Her final
remark was addressed quite as much to him as to me.

"What we have got to do," she said, "is to make use of