The good Bishop met us in the hall. Ideala positively declined to go
upstairs when he asked her.
"It is too much trouble," she said, not seeing in her absence what was
meant. "I would rather leave my things here."
"But I am afraid I _must_ trouble you," the Bishop answered, in
despair. "The fact is, my wife is not so well this evening, and she
was afraid of the cold, and is staying in her own sitting-room."
The "sitting-room" was a snug apartment, warm, cosy, luxurious, and we
found a genial little party of intimate acquaintances there when we
arrived. Ideala's husband was not one of them. He did not take her out
much at that time. Probably he was engaged in some private pursuit of
his own, and insisted on her going everywhere alone to keep her out of
the way. A little while before he would scarcely allow her to pay a
call without him. But, as a rule, whatever his mood was, she did as he
wished--and provoked him sometimes, I think, by her patient compliance;
a little resistance would have made the exercise of his authority more
exciting.
When we entered the sitting-room "an ominous silence feel on the
group," which was broken at last by one of the ladies remarking that a
kind heart was an admirable thing.
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