“Is that you, Elizabeth?” came the voice of Mrs. Pallitson; “you must have Bobbie back. Don’t say it’s impossible, you must. The Bishop of Sokotra, my husband’s uncle, is staying here. Sokotra, never mind how it’s spelt. Bobbie told him last night at dinner what he thought of Christian missions; I’ve often said the same thing myself, but never to a bishop. Nor have I expressed it in quite such offensive language. The bishop refuses to stay another day under the same roof as Bobbie. He, the bishop, is not merely an uncle, but a bachelor uncle, with private means. It’s all very well to say he should show a tolerant and charitable spirit; charity begins at home, and this is a colonial bishop. Sokotra, I keep telling you; it doesn’t matter where it is, the point is that the bishop is here, and we can’t allow him to leave us in a temper.”