Cecily herself did not know the married sister, but that didn't matter--it was a link.

The bishop was charming.
'Well, my love,' said I--I was teaching myself to use these forms of address for fear she would feel an unkind lack of them, but it was difficult--'I am glad that somebody from my part of the world has impressed you favourably at last.

I wish we had more bishops.' 'Oh, but my bishop doesn't belong to your part of the world,' responded my daughter sleepily.

'He is travelling for his health.' It was the most unexpected and delightful thing to be packed into one's chair next morning by Dacres Tottenham.

As I emerged from the music saloon after breakfast--Cecily had stayed below to look over her hymns and consider with her bishop the possibility of an anthem--Dacres's face was the first I saw; it simply illuminated, for me, that portion of the deck.