"Certainly they seem in great distress," said the bishop. Titania rose and looked awful. "Only upon one supposition can I account for it, bishop. This is their remorse. They are remorseful. They have treated her badly, and she has fled from them in her shame and will not see them!" "Ha!" said the bishop, "there is something in that!" "A great deal in it," boomed Titania, in her deepest tone of tragedy. "It explains everything." But Bradstock said: "Infernal nonsense, Titania! Bishop, I am surprised at you. They can’t _all_ be remorseful." "Why not?" demanded Titania; "why not, Augustin?" "Of course not," interjected the bishop, hastily. "Why not, I ask?" repeated the duchess. "Oh, well, you know," said Bradstock, "when you come to think of it, wouldn’t _one_ be enough to be remorseful for having behaved like a scoundrel?" The duchess collapsed. "Dear me! so it would," she said, weakly. "Now I come to think of it, one would be sufficient. Nothing is explained or can be explained till we find Penelope." The same feeling of desperation inspired the lovers in the various hotels. Their hopeless passion grew upon them. The sense of mystery deepened. They were sorry for Penelope, for the others, for themselves. What did she mean by it? They were all agreed now about the adoption theory, though they stuck to it manfully that they were married to her. Each one believed the infant was adopted, while he nobly claimed it as his own. They were really noble creatures, and showed themselves worthy of a better fate. A peculiar feeling of sympathy grew up among them, as it does among the unfortunate who are yet strong enough not to be overwhelmed. They spoke to each other again. Goby took De Vere’s arm and walked about with him. "I wish I could tell you all the truth, old chap," sighed Goby. "Ah, so do I," said the poet. "A great passion is a wonderful thing, Goby." "So it is, old chap," said Goby. "Do you remember the happy days we spent in your home when we read Browning and Shelley together, and you explained your poems to me?" Austin de Vere sighed. "Ah, they were happy days, when my nose peeled on the water and my hands were blistered by rowing." "Do you remember the bulldog?" asked Goby. "Ah, and the terrier he bit!" "And the howling retriever?" "And the bald, bronchitic Borzois," said De Vere, with enthusiasm. "I bought them all of Bob because she loved him." "I didn’t like you then, Austin, old chap," said Goby. Austin gripped his arm. "Plantagenet, we will be friends always. Now I can confess that I loathed you. I told Bradstock so. I said you were an ass." "So I am," said poor Goby. "I admit now I can’t understand Browning." Austin looked about him: "My dear chap, no more do I," he said, in an alarmed whisper. "He’s a much overrated man." "I never overrated him myself," said Goby, sagely. "Look here, Austin. You know, of course, that I’m married to Penelope?"