The apparent frankness of the man about himself had charmed Roger, and the charm had not been seriously disturbed when Father Barham, on one winter evening in the parlour at Carbury, had tried his hand at converting his host.

'I have the most thorough respect for your religion,' Roger had said; 'but it would not suit me.' The priest had gone on with his logic; if he could not sow the seed he might plough the ground.

This had been repeated two or three times, and Roger had begun to feel it to be disagreeable.
But the man was in earnest, and such earnestness commanded respect.
And Roger was quite sure that though he might be bored, he could not be injured by such teaching.

Then it occurred to him one day that he had known the Bishop of Elmham intimately for a dozen years, and had never heard from the bishop's mouth,--except when in the pulpit,--a single word of religious teaching; whereas this man, who was a stranger to him, divided from him by the very fact of his creed, was always talking to him about his faith.

Roger Carbury was not a man given to much deep thinking, but he felt that the bishop's manner was the pleasanter of the two.
Lady Carbury at dinner was all smiles and pleasantness.