Still he made no reply. He was looking earnestly at the conductor, who was pulling his musicians together for the second act. “You will come to us, Bertie?” she whispered. He shook his head. “I dare not promise,” said he. “I feel just now like a man who is still dazed, on being suddenly awakened. I have not yet begun to see things as they are. I am not sure of myself. I will let you know later on.” Then the conductor tapped his desk, and those of the audience who had left their places returned. Stephen Linton slipped into his chair; his wife took up her lorgnette as the first jingle of the tambourines was heard, and the curtain rose upon the picturesque tawdriness of the company assembled at the _Senor Lois Pastia’s_ place of entertainment. Ella gave all her attention to the opera--to that tragedy of the weakness of the flesh, albeit the spirit may be willing to listen to good. Alas! that the flesh should be so full of color and charm and seduction, while the spirit is pale, colorless, and set to music in a minor key! _Carmen_ flashed about the stage under the brilliant lights, looking like a lovely purple butterfly--a lovely purple oriole endowed with the double glory of plumage and song, and men whose hearts beat in unison with the heart-beats of that sensuous music through which she expressed herself, loved her; watched her with ravished eyes; heard her with ravished ears--yes, as men love such women; until the senses recover from the intoxication of her eyes and her limbs and her voice. And in the third act the sweet _Michaela_ came on with her song of the delight of purity, and peace, and home. She sang it charmingly, everyone allowed, and hoped that _Carmen_ would sing as well in the last act as she had sung in the others. Ella Linton kept her eyes fixed upon the stage to the very end of all. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE CHURCH IS NOT NEUROTIC. When George Holland received his two letters and read them he laid them side by side and asked himself what each of them meant. Well, he could make a pretty good guess as to what the bishop’s meant. The bishop meant business. But what did Mr. Linton want with him? Mr. Linton was a business man, perhaps he meant business too. Business men occasionally mean business; they more frequently only pretend to do so, in order to put off their guard the men they are trying to get the better of. He would have an interview with the bishop; so much was certain; and that interview was bound to be a difficult one--for the bishop. It was with some degree of pride that he anticipated the conflict. He would withdraw nothing that he had written. Let all the forces of the earth be leagued against him, he would abate not a jot--not a jot. (By the forces of the earth he meant the Bench of Bishops, which was scarcely doing justice to the bishops--or to the forces of the earth.)