"Yes," said Diavolo, preparing to suit his conversation to the bishop's taste. "There are a great many things we want to discuss with you; what were they, Angelica? I am sure I have forgotten them all." "Let me see," said Angelica--Sainte Chantal and the rotten potato had quite gone out of her mind. "It was just to have a little interesting conversation, you know." "We're getting on very well with our lessons," Diavolo gravely assured him, anticipating the inevitable question. "We've just come from Morne," said Angelica. "Indeed," the bishop answered. "How is your grandfather?" "Rather flat to-day," said Angelica. "He didn't say anything of interest; didn't even lecture us." "No; but he looked pleasant," said Diavolo. "I like him to lecture," Angelica insisted. "I like him to talk about the Church, how it is going to encompass the earth, the sea, and all that in them is; and that kind of thing, you know--boom, boom! He makes you feel as if every word he uttered ought to be printed in capital letters; and it seems as if your eyes opened wider and wider, and your skin got tight." Diavolo nodded his head to one side in intelligent acquiescence. Not being troubled with self-consciousness, he wore the handkerchief with which his head was decorated with the grave dignity of his best behaviour. "I sometimes think, sir," he began, addressing the bishop exactly in his father's precise way, "that there is something remarkable about my grandfather. He is a kind of a prophet, I imagine, to whom the Lord doesn't speak." Edith walked to the window, Mrs. Beale got out her handkerchief hastily; the bishop's countenance relaxed. "I suppose you wouldn't like us to be converted?" Angelica asked. "We call it _perverted_, dear child," said Mrs. Beale. "Well, they call it _converted_ just as positively up at the castle," Angelica rejoined, not argumentatively, merely stating the fact. "I wonder what the angels call it," said Diavolo, looking up in their direction out of a window opposite, and then glancing at the bishop as if he thought he ought to know. "I don't suppose they care a button what we call it," Angelica decided off-hand, out of her own inner consciousness. "But you would not like us to be either 'con' or 'per,' would you?" she asked the bishop. "I am afraid I must not discuss so serious a question with you to-day," he answered. "I am very busy, and I must go back to my work." "I thought you looked unsettled," Angelica observed. "I know what it is when you've got to come to the drawing room, and want to be somewhere else. They won't excuse us at home as a rule, but we'll excuse you, if you like." "Eh--thank you," the old gentleman answered, glancing with a smile at his wife. "But I should think some tea would do you good," Diavolo suggested. "Have you not had any tea?" Edith asked, stretching her hand out toward the bell. "Well, yes," he answered. "We've had a little"--the tone implied, "but not nearly enough."