_The Bishop._ Indeed? I had no conception that such a pleasure was in store for me! (_To himself._) This must be the penance for breaking my rule of never dining out on Saturday! Severe--but merited! _Lady Cant._ I wonder, Bishop, if you have seen this wonderful volume of poetry that everyone is talking about--_Andromeda_? _The Bishop_ (_conscientiously_). I chanced only this morning, by way of momentary relaxation, to take up a journal containing a notice of that work, with copious extracts. The impression left on my mind was--ah--unfavourable; a certain talent, no doubt, some felicity of expression, but a noticeable lack of the--ah--reticence, the discipline, the--the scholarly touch which a training at one of our great Public Schools (I forbear to particularise), and at a University, can alone impart. I was also pained to observe a crude discontent with the existing Social System--a system which, if not absolutely perfect, cannot be upset or even modified without the gravest danger. But I was still more distressed to note in several passages a decided taint of the morbid sensuousness which renders so much of our modern literature sickly and unwholesome. _Lady Cant._ All prejudice, my dear Bishop; why, you haven't even _read_ the book! However, the author is staying here now, and I feel convinced that if you only knew him, you'd alter your opinion. Such an unassuming, inoffensive creature! There, he's just come in. I'll call him over here.... Goodness, why does he shuffle along in that way! _Spurrell_ (_meeting_ Sir RUPERT). Hope I've kept nobody waiting for _me_, Sir RUPERT. (_Confidentially._) I'd rather a job to get these things on; but they're really a wonderful fit, considering! [_He passes on, leaving his host speechless._ _Lady Cant._ That's right, Mr. SPURRELL. Come here, and let me present you to the Bishop of BIRCHESTER. The Bishop has just been telling me he considers your _Andromeda_ sickly, or unhealthy, or something. I'm sure you'll be able to convince him it's nothing of the sort. [_She leaves him with the_ Bishop, _who is visibly annoyed._ _Spurr._ (_to himself, overawed_). Oh, Lor! Wish I knew the right way to talk to a Bishop. Can't call _him_ nothing--so doosid familiar. (_Aloud._) _Andromeda_ sickly, your--(_tentatively_)--your Right Reverence? Not a bit of it--sound as a roach! _The Bishop._ If I had thought my--ah--criticisms were to be repeated--I might say misrepresented, as the Countess has thought proper to do, Mr. SPURRELL, I should not have ventured to make them. At the same time, you must be conscious yourself, I think, of certain blemishes which would justify the terms I employed. _Spurr._ I never saw any in _Andromeda_ myself, your--your Holiness. You're the first to find a fault in her. I don't say there mayn't be something dicky about the setting and the turn of the tail, but that's a trifle.