Oh--Mag! Shame on you not to know the name even of the Bishop of
the great state of--yes, the lean, short little Bishop with a
little white beard, and the softest eye and the softest heart and--
my very own Bishop, Nancy Olden's Bishop. And this was his wife.

Tut--tut, Mag! Of course not. A bishop's wife may be a kleptomaniac;
it's only Cruelty girls that really steal from stores.

"I've met the Bishop, Mrs. Van Wagenen." I didn't say how--
she wouldn't appreciate that story.

"And he was once very kind to me. But he would be the first to
tell me to do my duty now. I'll do it as quietly as I can for his
sake. But you must come with me or I must arrest--"

She put up a shaking hand. Dear little old guy!

"Don't--don't say it! It's all a mistake, which can be rectified
in a moment. I've been trying to match this piece of lace for
years. I got it at Malta when--when Mills and I--on our
honeymoon. When I saw it there on the counter I was so
delighted--I never thought--I intended taking it to the light to
be sure the pattern was the same, my eyesight is so wretched--and
when you spoke to me it was the first inkling I had that I had
really taken it without paying! You certainly understand," she
pleaded in agitation. "I have no need to steal--you must know
that--oh, that I wouldn't--that--I couldn't--If you will just let
me pay you--"