Lily turned from her vigil at the window when her mother and Margaret opened the door and peered in. The door had to be kept closed against the cats, to keep them away from the tea table, but Bennie, the old white terrier, lay on his side on the hearthrug pretending to be asleep but with his eyes wide open, waiting for the cake to be cut. Lily saw that her mother was smiling hopefully, as she did when everything had gone wrong and was now on the mend, and that Margaret’s face was shiny but calm.

“We’re going to go down to the kitchen and get the kettle going,” Mrs. Bagot said. “And you’re not to take your eye off that window, do you hear me now, Lily?” As though it were Lily who had driven her mother to the limit of her patience. “Do you hear me now, Lily?” she said again, “I want to know the minute you see the Bishop.”

Mrs. Bagot was no longer smiling, and as Lily looked at her small face, pinched into severity and appeal, she felt a rush of impatience and misery. One way or another the day was sure to be spoiled. But there was no chance of saying anything because the two faces, Mrs. Bagot’s and Margaret’s, vanished, and the door closed. The little room was crowded, with the sofa and the chairs and the tea table and all the plants, and Lily could see nothing of Bennie except his back legs and his stubby tail, which now began to bang steadily against the hearthrug. Bennie had heard Mrs. Bagot’s altered tone, and he was taking no chances. Good fortune had brought cake to the tea table, and Bennie wanted to be sure he would be allowed to stay in the same room with it.

“Cake, Bennie,” Lily said, and the tail hesitated a minute and then began again, gently beating.

The front sitting room was smaller than the bedroom above it by the width of the hall that led to the front door, and the window where Lily stood watching for the Bishop corresponded with the window upstairs where she had stood while her mother combed her hair. There was no one coming up the street, no tall old man striding like a prophet toward the gate. The Bishop was late.