"My dear ladies, your sex is really the backbone of ours and not the missing rib," said the bishop who, when he was genuinely touched, often relapsed into his native humor. "But what shall we call the boat? I can't go on missionary voyages with an Indian pilot and a Scotch engineer in a slim, black, piratical looking vessel that flies the name of a heathen queen. Even my gaiters wouldn't save me from being misunderstood." "Would the name 'Evangeline' do?" asked a gentle voice as Mrs. Manson, who had been listening intently, moved a little closer. She breathed the word very softly and her large expressive eyes shot an uncertain glance at the broad back of her husband who stood just out of hearing. "Evangeline!" The bishop had a sudden thrill in his tones. "Evangeline she shall be, and may I prove worthy of my vessel." A little later the three ladies went together and rather silently down the plank walk that led from the See House to the main road. Their eyes were on the tapering spars of the yacht that floated so gracefully a few hundred yards away. "I wonder," said Mrs. Dibbott pensively, "if we really appreciate him." "Meaning the Bishop?" demanded Mrs. Worden. "Yes. He's a much bigger man than we realize, and he certainly gave up a great deal to come here." "The most eloquent preacher in Canada, isn't he, but after all, could a smaller man do his work?" "Perhaps, in a sort of way, but, of course, not half as well. I think, too, that we have to remember he left the places where he met those of his own kind, and he must miss that." "But he loves his work." "Only some of it," put in Mrs. Manson. "I heard him say so. He told me he hated begging, and we all know he has to raise the money to run the diocese as well as spend it." Mrs. Dibbott shook her head. "A bishop shouldn't have to beg, it's lowering. Don't you think so?" "It would be to some," said the little woman thoughtfully, "but it couldn't lower our bishop. As for being isolated, of course he is, but so are the rest of us, and I shouldn't be surprised if it's the out of the way places that need the best men, and--goodness! here's Mr. Clark." Three pairs of very keen eyes fixed on a neat, rather thickset figure that came rapidly toward them. It was but seldom now that Clark was seen in town, and this invested him with more suggestiveness than ever. He stepped off the sidewalk with a somewhat formal salute as they passed. Knowing that he would not pause, Mrs. Dibbott turned and looked after him with a long satisfying stare. "Not a bit interested in us," she remarked acidly. "Nor in any woman, I hear," added Mrs. Worden. "There's no room for them in his life. I mean in an emotional way." "How perfectly fascinating. I'd love to know him." The brisk steps behind them halted at the gate where the bishop was saying good-by to his last guest. "I'm late, I'll not stay," said Clark apologetically. "That's all the better for a chat. You're looking well."