The Bishop's mouth, though it spoke of an indomitable will, had a certain twist of the lip, his deep-set, benevolent eyes had a certain twinkle which made persons like Lord Newhaven and Hester hail him at once as an ally, but which ought to have been a danger-signal to some of his clerical brethren--to Mr.Gresley in particular.
The Bishop respected and upheld Mr.Gresley as a clergyman, but as a conversationalist the young vicar wearied him.

If the truth were known (which it never was), he had arranged to visit Hester when he knew Mr.
Gresley would be engaging the reluctant attention of a ruridecanal meeting.
He gave a sigh of relief as he became aware that Hester and Rachel were the only occupants of the cool, darkened room.

Mrs.Gresley, it seemed, was also out.
Hester made tea, and presently the Bishop, who looked much exhausted, roused himself.

He had that afternoon attended two death-beds--one the death-bed of a friend, and the other that of the last vestige of peace, expiring amid the clamor of a distracted Low Church parish and High Church parson, who could only meet each other after the fashion of cymbals.

For the moment even his courageous spirit had been disheartened.
"I met a son of Anak the other night at the Newhavens'," he said to Hester, "who claimed you as a cousin--a Mr.Richard Vernon.