“More embarrassments were to follow. I wasn’t going to let a mere ordinary flood wash out the memory of that Crown Derby dessert service, and I intimated to the Bishop that his large bedroom, with a writing table in it, and his small bath-room, with a sufficiency of cold-water jars in it, was his share of the premises, and that space was rather congested under the existing circumstances. However, at about three o’clock in the afternoon, when he had awakened from his midday sleep, he made a sudden incursion into the room that was normally the drawing-room, but was now dining-room, store-house, saddle-room, and half a dozen other temporary premises as well. From the condition of my guest’s costume he seemed to think it might also serve as his dressing-room. “’I’m afraid there is nowhere for you to sit,’ I said coldly; ‘the verandah is full of goats.’ “’There is a goat in my bedroom,’ he observed with equal coldness, and more than a suspicion of sardonic reproach. “’Really,’ I said, ‘another survivor? I thought all the other goats were done for.’ “‘This particular goat is quite done for,’ he said, ‘it is being devoured by a leopard at the present moment. That is why I left the room; some animals resent being watched while they are eating.’ “The leopard, of course, was easily explained; it had been hanging round the goat sheds when the flood came, and had clambered up by the outside staircase leading to the Bishop’s bath-room, thoughtfully bringing a goat with it. Probably it found the bath-room too damp and shut-in for its taste, and transferred its banqueting operations to the bedroom while the Bishop was having his nap.” “What a frightful situation!” exclaimed Annabel; “fancy having a ravening leopard in the house, with a flood all round you.”