But when Mrs. Bagot had seen the Bishop into his chair, she glanced out and saw to her surprise that the car was still outside, and at the same moment the chauffeur appeared in the doorway of the sitting room.

“I beg your pardon, Madam,” he said, “but Mrs. Sheffield Smith wants to know if she can take the two children for a drive. We are going for a drive until it is time to call back for His Lordship.”

Mrs. Bagot stared at him. Lily and Margaret were standing behind him. They were silent with longing.

“Oh, Mrs. Bagot,” the chauffeur said, “I hope you’ll let them come. It would be a great treat for Mrs. Sheffield Smith, and for me, too. She’s not able to get out of the car, but she’s waving at you, if you will just go to the window.”

“Let the little ones go for the drive in the big car, Delia,” the Bishop said.

“Yes,” Mrs. Bagot said. “Yes, they can go. Get your coats, Lily.”

She went to the window and looked and waved and smiled and nodded at the gray-gloved hand and the scrap of veiled face that appeared for a moment and then vanished as Mrs. Sheffield Smith sank back into her corner. The front door closed, and the chauffeur and the two children hurried down the path and to the car. He lifted Margaret into the back, and then helped Lily scramble up into the front seat. The children had been silent as they put their coats on in the hall, and silent going out to the car. It was one of their ways of being good.

“They’re gone,” Mrs. Bagot said to the Bishop, or to herself, and she turned away from the window and took the chair opposite him.

“I can’t get over how like your grandmother you are,” the Bishop said. “You’re the image of her. I knew I did the right thing to come here today. I’m glad to see you. Your grandmother was a sprite, like you. She was that supple” — the Bishop said “soople” — “that light on her feet, and small, but she was a very hard worker. And you take after her. I can see, just by looking around this room. It’s a lovely place you have here.”