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"My dear Mrs. Breckenridge, that Clarence is now passing through a most unfortunate, most lamentable, period in his life is, alas, perfectly true. His mother -- a lovely woman -- was one of my wife's dearest friends, one of my own. His first marriage was much against her wishes, poor dear lady, and -- as my wife was saying the other day -- had she lived to see him happily married again, and her grandchild in such good hands, it could not but have been a great joy to her. Yes. ... Now, you and I know Clarence -- know his good points, and know his faults. That's one of the sad things about us poor human beings, we get to know each other so well! And isn't it equally true that we're not patient enough with each other? -- oh, yes, I know we try. But do we try HARD enough? Isn't there generally some fault on both sides, quick words, angry, hasty actions, argument and blame, when we say things we don't mean and that we are sure to regret, eh? We all get tired of the stupid round of daily duty, and of the people we are nearest to -- that's a sad thing, too. We'd all like a change, like to see if we couldn't do something else better! And so comes the break, and the cloud on a fine old name, and all because we aren't better soldiers -- we don't want to march in line! Bless me, don't I know the feeling myself? Why, that good little wife of mine could tell you some tales of discouragement and disenchantment that would make you open your eyes! But she braces me up, she puts heart into me -- and the first thing I know I'm marching again!"

"I had such a brief glimpse of it on the day of the tea," Bishop Thomas said pleasantly, "that I feel as if I must have another look at that inscription!"

"And why, pray, should I be dreadful?" the bishop asked, smiling reproachfully.

"Am I usually so dreadful? I don't believe it would be possible, among these lovely roses" -- he drew in a great breath of the sweet afternoon air -- "and with such a wonderful sunset telling us to lift up our hearts."

"Would it be dreadful, Mrs. Breckenridge, if one saw a heedless little child -- oh, a sweet and dear, but a heedless little child -- going too near the cliffs -- would it be dreadful to say: 'Look out, little child! There's a terrible fall there, and the water's cold and dark. Be careful!'"

"Well, what about the child?" he persisted

"Aren't we all children?" asked the bishop, mildly triumphant.

"Children, yes, the best and wisest of us is no more than that," he was saying dreamily, "and we must bear and forbear with each other. Not easy? Of course it's not easy! But no cross no crown, you know. I have known Clarence a great many years -- "

"Clarence does?" the clergyman asked

"And what will your life be after this, my child?"

"If those ARE the statistics," said the bishop warmly, "it is a disgrace to a Christian country!"

"It is SUPPOSEDLY so," the clergyman asserted.

"I don't know you in this mood," said Bishop Thomas coldly.

"And what would my branding them as murderers and thieves avail?"

"Are we to judge our fellowmen?"

"The church frowns on divorce," said the bishop sternly

"At the very present moment the House of Bishops, to which I have the distinguished honor to belong, is considering taking a decided stand in the matter. Divorce is a sin -- a sin against one of God's institutions. But when I find a lady in this mood," he continued, with a sort of magnificent forbearance, "I never attempt to combat her views, no matter how extraordinarily jumbled and -- and childish they are. As a clergyman, and as an old friend, I am grieved when I see a hasty and an undisciplined nature about to do that which will wreck its own happiness, but I can only give a friendly warning, and pass on. I do not propose to defend the institution to which I have dedicated my life before you or before anyone. Shall we go back to the house?"

"Then, because we can't all be perfect, it would be better not to try to be good at all?" the bishop asked

"We are not perfect ourselves," said the clergyman benevolently, "yet we expect perfection in others. Before we will even change our own lives we like to look around and see what other people are doing. Perfectly natural? Of course it's perfectly natural, but at the same time it's one of the things we must fight. I shall have to tell you a little story of our Rose, as I sometimes tell some of my boys at the College of Divinity," continued the good man

"Rose," resumed her father, "wanted to study the violin when she was about twelve, and her peculiar old pater decided that first she must learn to cook. Her mother quite agreed with me, and the young lady was accordingly taken out to the kitchen and introduced to some pots and pans. I also got her some book, I've forgotten its name -- her mother would remember; 'Complete Manual of Cookery' -- something of that sort. A day or two later I asked her mother how the cooking went. 'Oh,' she said, 'Rose has been reading that book, and she knows more than all the rest of us!'"