[_The door opens, and the_ BISHOP OF ST. OLPHERTS _enters with_ THEOPHILA _upon his arm_. JUSTINA _follows them, carrying a shawl. The bishop is a mild-looking, very old man._ THEOPHILA _is dressed in her cape and bonnet, and her face is hidden under her thick veil_. THEOPHILA. [_Coming to_ MRS. EMPTAGE, _and kissing her_.] Mother—— [MRS. EMPTAGE _kisses her hastily and, bustles over to the_ BISHOP. MRS. EMPTAGE. Ah, Bishop, I can hardly hope you’ll recollect me. BISHOP. [_Vaguely._] Yes, yes, yes. MRS. EMPTAGE. [_With a simper._] Muriel, you know. BISHOP. [_Taking her hand._] Mrs. Emptage——! MRS. EMPTAGE. Don’t tell me; I know I’m altered. BISHOP. Ah, years pass over us. MRS. EMPTAGE. It isn’t that—but I had no sleep last night. [SIR FLETCHER _advances, and grasps the_ BISHOP’S _hand_. SIR FLETCHER. I remember years ago, at the opening of the People’s Library at Stockwell, describing Dr. Cloys as one of the stoutest pillars of our Church—— BISHOP. [_Uneasily._] The People’s Library at——? SIR FLETCHER. Stockwell. To-day I have only to add—may that pillar never grow faint nor weary; may its back remain equal to the burden imposed upon it; may it continue to plough the stormy seas of scepticism and agnosticism! BISHOP. [_Helplessly._] Er-r—who is it? MRS. CLOYS. My brother Fletcher. BISHOP. Ah, how do you do? QUAIFE _appears_. MRS. CLOYS. Is the fly here? QUAIFE. Yes, ma’am. [QUAIFE _withdraws. The_ BISHOP _moves towards the window_, SIR FLETCHER _closely following him_. THEOPHILA. [_To_ MRS. EMPTAGE.] Good-bye, mother dear. MRS. EMPTAGE. [_Embracing her._] Oh, good-bye, my darling. I won’t reproach you. If you make a bed you must lie on it. You’ve nearly broken my heart, but I’m only your mother—— THEOPHILA. Oh, don’t——! MRS. EMPTAGE. [_In a whisper._] Mind you see that we visit you constantly in London and St Olpherts! THEOPHILA.