Skelton was indifferent. He went because he hoped to be amused, and because the glory of the bishop’s visit would be dimmed if the distinguished Mr. Skelton, of Deerchase, failed to pay his respects; and then, he found Sylvia the most interesting woman of his acquaintance, and he wanted to see how she and the bishop got on. He was very much diverted upon this last point. The bishop was quite willing to overlook the thirty years’ difference in their ages, but Miss Sylvia perversely and subtly brought it forward at every turn. Old Tom, too, seemed bitten by a devil of contradiction, and the more Mrs. Shapleigh tried to give the conversation at the dinner table an evangelical turn, the more persistently old Tom talked about the races, past and future, the coming spring meeting, the beauties and delights of racing, and his determination, if he couldn’t be a vestryman and a manager too, to resign from the vestry. Sylvia cast a roguish glance at Skelton every now and then from under her eyelashes, and Skelton’s eyes laughed back at her sympathetically. The bishop shook his head deprecatingly at Mr. Shapleigh, but said nothing in condemnation. Out of compliment to Skelton and Bulstrode he tried very hard to introduce some knotty metaphysical talk, but luck was against him. Skelton declined to enter the lists with such an antagonist, and Bulstrode professed the most hypocritical ignorance upon every possible point of view presented by the bishop. “Don’t know, I’m sure”--“Never heard of it before”--“Good Gad, ask Skelton there; he reads, I don’t”--until the bishop became so insistent that Bulstrode suddenly turned and rent him. This very much amused Sylvia, sitting quiet and demure, playing at eating her dinner. Then Skelton launched into talk of horses and dogs, all very refined, very spirited, but to Conyers, watching him with sad eyes, very painful. How could such a man waste time on such subjects? Between horse racing and philosophy, poor Conyers had a dull time of it. [Illustration: SYLVIA DID MUCH FOR HERSELF ... BY THAT SPEECH. --_Page 139_] The bishop, however, although he was lamentably deficient in the philosophy learned out of books, was nevertheless an excellent philosopher in action, and ate a very good dinner in much comfort, without disturbing himself about either the principles or the practices of his neighbours. After dinner Skelton went up to Sylvia in a corner of the drawing-room, and said in a low voice: “How have you stood him?” “Dreadfully ill, I am afraid,” answered Sylvia, hopelessly. “If it hadn’t been for little Lewis and his boat, I should have gone mad in these last few days.” Skelton’s eyes kindled. “How fond that boy is of you!” “How can one help being fond of him? He is so manly, so intelligent, so affectionate!” Without knowing it Sylvia did much for herself in Skelton’s regard by that speech.