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It's often the only way of
getting rid of a nuisance."
"Rather a violent measure," replied the Bishop politely.
"You're not feeling very well, sir?" he continued, with a fine
assumption of affability. "I am so sorry. As for me, I like a little
movement of the boat. You know our proverb? Weeds don't spoil. I'm
alluding to myself, of course!"
Weeds don't spoil. . . .
Yes, he was a weed. Mr. Heard had not taken kindly to him; he hoped
they would not see too much of each other on Nepenthe, which he
understood to be rather a small place. A few words of civility over the
table d'hote had led to an exchange of cards--a continental custom which
Mr. Heard always resented. It could not easily be avoided in the
present case. They had talked of Nepenthe, or rather Mr. Muhlen had
talked; the bishop, as usual, preferring to listen and to learn. Like
himself, Mr. Muhlen had never before set foot on the place. To be sure,
he had visited other Mediterranean islands; he knew Sicily fairly well
and had once spent a pleasant fortnight on Capri.


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