MRS. CLOYS. [_Under her breath._] Eh? SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD. [_Looking at_ MRS. CLOYS _significantly_.] The bishop often suffers from the effects of severe intellectual strain, and it has more than once struck me that for a few weeks in the year this peculiarly invigorating air—— [_Going to the dining-room door._] The arrangements appear to be most convenient. May I? JOHN. The dining-room. SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD. [_Opening the door and peeping into the room._] Delightful! I can picture the bishop sitting there, my sister there, myself, perhaps, over there—delightful! [_Closing the door and moving away, pointing to the upper door._] The hall and the little card-room I have seen. [_Rapping the table._] But the grand question is, Mrs. Allingham—would you let? That’s the point, Allingham—would you feel inclined to let? JOHN. Oh, if his lordship did us the honour of expressing a wish—— SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD. That’s extremely good-natured. [_Trying to catch_ MRS. CLOYS’ _eye_.] You hear, Harriet? MRS. CLOYS. [_With a gulp._] Yes. SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD. [_Pointing to the steps._] And here? OLIVE. [_Struggling to suppress her anger._] The library—the library. SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD. Have I permission? OLIVE. Oh, by all means. [SIR FLETCHER _bustles up the steps and enters the library_. SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD. [_Out of sight._] Cheerful—very cheerful. A paucity of volumes, but the bishop would bring his own books. OLIVE. [_Quickly._] Sir Fletcher, while you are there, do examine the little clock on the mantelpiece. The case is modern oriental. SIR FLETCHER PORTWOOD. [_Out of sight._] Ah, yes, yes. OLIVE. I gave it to Mr. Allingham some years ago. Count those curious stones round the dial. [_To_ MRS. CLOYS, _rapidly but forcibly, dropping her voice_.] Mrs. Cloys, I confess I find it difficult to accept Sir Fletcher’s suggestion that you are engaged at this time of night in hunting for fresh air for the bishop. I—— [_Upon_ SIR FLETCHER’S _disappearance_, CLAUDE _advances and stands waiting for an opportunity to speak_. CLAUDE. [_Breaking in in a hollow voice._] As Mrs. Fraser’s brother—— [_All turn their heads towards_ CLAUDE _again_. OLIVE. [_With clenched hands._] Oh! I am endeavouring to speak to Mrs. Cloys—— CLAUDE. Pardon me. As Mrs. Fraser’s brother, and as, perhaps, the chief sufferer from the result of to-day’s proceedings——