“I daresay that’s all true,” I made bold to observe, “but, nevertheless, your pair of lovers seem to me rather ridiculous.” “Exactly, sir,” said the Colonel--and I was relieved that he took my interruption so well. “They would seem to you ridiculous. Probably the _chef_ seems ridiculous too? A man of another profession can’t have the feeling in its full intensity. It seems ridiculous! But think--doesn’t that very fact increase the tragedy? To suffer from a feeling deep and painful, and to be aware that it is in the eyes of the world at large ridiculous--can you imagine anything more distressing?” “Your story illustrates more than one great truth, I perceive, Colonel.” “If it did not, sir, I should never have troubled you with it,” he answered with lofty courtesy. “And what happened? Did love triumph over all?” “I hesitate to describe the issue in those terms,” said he, with a slight frown. “They are conventional--designedly, no doubt--and I don’t think that they fit this particular case. George and Miss Welford were, beyond question, deeply attached to one another, and they got married in due course--nor am I aware that the marriage has turned out otherwise than well in the ordinary sense. Mrs Langhorn is a very charming woman. But was it a triumph of love? I look deeper, gentlemen. In my view love was but an instrument in the hands of Fate. The triumph was the triumph of Fate, and I am persuaded that, when they went to the altar, resignation to destiny was the most prominent feeling in the minds of both of them. That is why I said at the beginning that the story was rather a sad one. The very night before the wedding I found George poring over the Sky-high’s illustrated catalogue! What does that fact carry to your minds?” “It looks bad,” I admitted, with a sigh. “It speaks volumes,” said the Colonel briefly, and he finished his barley-water. The new member flung the end of his cigar into the grate and rose to his feet. His face still wore the reflective smile which had decorated it throughout the Colonel’s story. “And what,” I asked the Colonel, “are the present relations between Stretchley’s and the Sky-high?” “It would be curious to know,” he answered; “but as to that I have no information. I’ve never ventured to interrogate George Langhorn on the point.” “I think I can answer the question,” said the new member, flicking an ash off his trousers. “The two companies were privately amalgamated last week. I drew the articles of association myself. Mr Langhorn is to be chairman of the joint concern.” The Colonel might plausibly have resented a silence so long maintained as to border on deceit. He showed no anger. He nodded his head gravely, as though to say: “Here is the Epilogue! Here is the Catastrophe complete!” “Stretchley’s and the Sky-high!” he murmured. “Poor George Langhorn! Poor George!” I went home to dinner really quite depressed. PRUDENCE AND THE BISHOP