“But tell me, does she lead one to imagine that she’ll----” he hesitated for a moment, but made a dash for it, “breed well?” “My dear Canon, I never considered her from that point of view,” laughed Mrs. Fitzherbert. Canon Spratte smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “One must be practical. Of course a great change has come over the opinion of society with regard to the position of merchants, and one mustn’t lag behind the times.” “A Conservative member of Parliament is still an object of admiration to many,” murmured Mrs. Fitzherbert. “Well, well, I’m not the man to stand in the way of my children’s happiness, and if I find that Lionel loves the girl, I promise you to put no obstacle in his way.” Lady Hollington rose from her chair, and with a rustling sweep of silk skirts, with a quick gleam of diamonds, the ladies followed one another from the dining-room. Their host took his glass and moved round the table to sit by his most distinguished guest. But Canon Spratte, like a wise man, had already seized the opportunity. He drew his chair near that of Lord Stonehenge. The Prime Minister, obese and somnolent, turned upon him for a moment his dull, suspicious eyes, and then sunk his head strangely into his vast corpulence. “I’m sorry to see that poor Andover is dead,” said the Canon, blandly. His neighbour, meditative as a cow chewing the cud, made no sign that he heard the observation; but Canon Spratte was by no means disconcerted. “He’ll be a great loss and most difficult to replace,” he continued. “They say he was the most learned of our bishops. I was excessively distressed when I heard of the sad event.” “What did he die of?” asked the Prime Minister, indifferently. “Oh, he was a very old man,” promptly replied the other, who had no idea to what fell disease the late Bishop of Barchester had succumbed. “My own conviction is that bishops ought to retire like ambassadors. A bishop should be a man of restless strength, active and versatile; he should be ready to put his hand to anything. To be a bishop you want as much energy and resource as if you were manager of the Army and Navy Stores.” “Who is the manager of the Army and Navy Stores?” asked Lord Stonehenge. Theodore Spratte smiled politely, but thought none the less that the Prime Minister was growing very stupid. “Thank heaven, I shall never be as fat as that,” he said to himself, and added aloud: “I believe Andover was appointed by Mr. Gladstone.” “How very large these grapes are!” said Lord Stonehenge, looking heavily at the dish of fruit in front of him. “Yes,” said the Canon undisturbed, “my father, the Chancellor, used to grow very fine grapes at Beachcombe. You know, of course, that he held very decided views about the political opinions of the bishops.”