"So I heard," said Mr. Bishop. "What a charming man his lordship is."
"You know him?" asked Mr. Windle in surprise.
"Well--slightly."
"He is doing us the honour of dining with us to-day after morning
service. We always dine in the middle of the day on Sundays--only
Sundays, of course."
"Indeed?" said the Rev. Samuel, in reference to the first part of
Mr. Windle's sentence.
"My wife and I will be pleased if you will come."
Mr. Bishop's face twitched with pleasure. He saw the opportunity of
becoming better acquainted with his lordship; of mentioning one or
two little alterations in his own parish which he had conceived and
approved of, entirely on his own initiative.
"I shall be delighted," he replied--"delighted. Sixty I think you
said?" he added, as he commenced to pour the wine into the silver
altar jug.
"If not more," replied the other, departing to take his place in the
Windle family pew.
Mr. Bishop was left in the vestry, apportioning out sixty separate
quantities of wine--quantities, which he deemed would be sufficient
to seem appreciable to the palates, spiritual and physical, of those
for whom they were intended. You can see him, tilting up the neck
of the black bottle sixty consecutive times, with no sense of the
ludicrous.
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