"Now, that's like my own, own Bishop!" I cried. Mag--Mag, he was
blushing like a boy, a prim, rather scared little school-boy that
somehow, yet--oh, I knew he must feel kindly to me! I felt so fond of
him.
"You see, Bishop Van Wagenen," I began softly, "I never had a father
and--"
"Bless me! But you told me that day you had mistaken me for--for him."
The baby! I had forgotten what that old Edward told me--that this
trusting soul actually still believed all I'd told him. What was I to
do? I tell you, Mag, it's no light thing to get accustomed to telling
the truth. You never know where it'll lead you. Here was I--just a
clever little lie or two and the dear old Bishop would be happy and
contented again. But no; that fatal habit that I've acquired of
telling the truth to Fred and you mastered me--and I fell.
"You know, Bishop," I said, shutting my eyes and speaking fast to get
it over--as I imagine you must, Mag, when you confess to Father
Phelan--"that was all a--a little farce-comedy--the whole business--all
of it--every last word of it!"
"A comedy!"