governor—saw your papers have it that you were here three months in nineteen seven."
"Yes, Craigen was governor then," Woodhouse answered guardedly.
"You never saw him. General." Bishop turned to Sir George. "Big, bluff, blustering chap, with a voice like the bull of Bashan. Woodhouse, here, he'll recognize my portrait."
Woodhouse smiled—secret disdain for the clumsy trap was in that smile.
"I'm afraid I do not," he said. "Craigen was considered a small, almost a delicate, man." He had recognized the bungling emphasis laid by Bishop on the Craigen characteristics, and his answer was pretty safely drawn by choosing the opposites. Bishop looked flustered for an instant, then admitted Woodhouse was right. He had confused Sir David Craigen with his predecessor, he said in excuse.
"I fancy I ought to remember the man. I had tea in this very room with him several times," Woodhouse ventured. He let his eyes rove as if in reminiscence. "Much the same here—as—except, General Crandall, I don't recall that fire-place." He indicated the heavy Gothic ornament on the opposite side of the room.
