“Isn’t it a little underhand?” Canon Spratte drew himself up and looked at his sister with some sternness. “My dear, I do not wish to remind you that I am a clergyman, though occasionally you seem strangely oblivious of the fact. But I should like to point out to you that it’s unlikely, to say the least of it, that a man of my position in the Church should do anything dishonest or underhand.” Lady Sophia, raising her eyebrows, smiled thinly. “My dear brother, if as Vicar of St. Gregory’s and Canon of Tercanbury, and prospective Bishop of Barchester, you assure me that you are acting like a Christian and a gentleman--of course I haven’t the temerity to say anything further.” “You may set your mind at rest,” he answered, with a little laugh of scorn, “you can be quite sure that whatever I do is right.” VIII Two days after this Lady Sophia was sitting alone in the drawing-room when Mrs. Fitzherbert was shown in. At her heels walked Lord Spratte. “I found him on a chair in the Park, and I brought him here to keep him out of mischief,” she said, shaking hands with Lady Sophia. “I’ve reached an age when I can only get into mischief with an infinite deal of trouble,” answered Lord Spratte, “and when I’ve succeeded, I find the game was hardly worth the candle.” “I’ve not seen you since Theodore turned you out of the house--somewhat unceremoniously,” laughed Lady Sophia; “I hope you bear no malice.” “Not in the least; Theodore’s cook is far too good.” They both talked very frankly before Mrs. Fitzherbert, whom they liked equally; but the Canon would not perhaps have been much pleased if he knew how thoroughly they discussed him in her presence. Lord Spratte asked whether there was any news of the bishopric. “Nothing has been heard yet, but Theodore is convinced he’ll get it,” replied Lady Sophia. “He’ll be quite unbearable if he does.” “Quite!” she agreed. “I shall shave my head and go into a convent.” “You laugh at the Canon and you tease him, but he’s a clever man for all that,” said Mrs. Fitzherbert. “Of course he’s rather vain and grandiloquent, but not very much more than most men. I have an idea that he’ll make a first-rate bishop.” “Theodore?” Lady Sophia considered the matter for a moment. “It really hadn’t occurred to me, but I daresay you’re right,” she said. “Of course he’s not a saint, but one doesn’t want bishops to be too pious. Curates may be saintly, and it’s very proper that they should; but it’s equally proper of their betters to leave them hidden away in obscure parishes where their peculiarities cannot be a stumbling-block to the faithful. The religion of a man who belongs to the Church of England is closely connected with consols, and he looks with grave distrust on the parson who tells him seriously to lay up treasure in heaven.” “A bishop must be a man who can wear his gaiters with dignity,” smiled Mrs, Fitzherbert. “But has Theodore the legs?”