Part 44 (1/2)

”Nonsense, my dear! Don't think of such a thing; after all, it is only for an hour or so; and, to tell the truth, I don't know what it is you dislike so. I thought you and Mr. Slope were great friends.

What is it you dislike?”

”Oh, nothing particular,” said Eleanor; ”only I thought it would be a family party.”

”Of course it would be much nicer, much more snug, if Bertie could go with us. It is he that is badly treated. I can a.s.sure you he is much more afraid of Mr. Slope than you are. But you see Madeline cannot go out without him--and she, poor creature, goes out so seldom! I am sure you don't begrudge her this, though her vagary does knock about our own party a little.”

Of course Eleanor made a thousand protestations and uttered a thousand hopes that Madeline would enjoy herself. And of course she had to give way and undertake to go in the carriage with Mr. Slope. In fact, she was driven either to do this or to explain why she would not do so.

Now she could not bring herself to explain to Charlotte Stanhope all that had pa.s.sed at Plumstead.

But it was to her a sore necessity. She thought of a thousand little schemes for avoiding it; she would plead illness and not go at all; she would persuade Mary Bold to go, although not asked, and then make a necessity of having a carriage of her own to take her sister-in-law; anything, in fact, she could do, rather than be seen by Mr. Arabin getting out of the same carriage with Mr. Slope. However, when the momentous morning came, she had no scheme matured, and then Mr. Slope handed her into Dr. Stanhope's carriage and, following her steps, sat opposite to her.

The bishop returned on the eve of the Ullathorne party, and was received at home with radiant smiles by the partner of all his cares.

On his arrival he crept up to his dressing-room with somewhat of a palpitating heart; he had overstayed his alloted time by three days, and was not without much fear of penalties. Nothing, however, could be more affectionately cordial than the greeting he received; the girls came out and kissed him in a manner that was quite soothing to his spirit; and Mrs. Proudie, ”albeit, unused to the melting mood,”

squeezed him in her arms and almost in words called him her dear, darling, good, pet, little bishop. All this was a very pleasant surprise.

Mrs. Proudie had somewhat changed her tactics; not that she had seen any cause to disapprove of her former line of conduct, but she had now brought matters to such a point that she calculated that she might safely do so. She had got the better of Mr. Slope, and she now thought well to show her husband that when allowed to get the better of everybody, when obeyed by him and permitted to rule over others, she would take care that he should have his reward. Mr. Slope had not a chance against her; not only could she stun the poor bishop by her midnight anger, but she could a.s.suage and soothe him, if she so willed, by daily indulgences. She could furnish his room for him, turn him out as smart a bishop as any on the bench, give him good dinners, warm fires, and an easy life--all this she would do if he would but be quietly obedient. But, if not,--! To speak sooth, however, his sufferings on that dreadful night had been so poignant as to leave him little spirit for further rebellion.

As soon as he had dressed himself, she returned to his room. ”I hope you enjoyed yourself at ----,” said she, seating herself on one side of the fire while he remained in his armchair on the other, stroking the calves of his legs. It was the first time he had had a fire in his room since the summer, and it pleased him, for the good bishop loved to be warm and cosy. Yes, he said, he had enjoyed himself very much. Nothing could be more polite than the archbishop, and Mrs.

Archbishop had been equally charming.

Mrs. Proudie was delighted to hear it; nothing, she declared, pleased her so much as to think

Her bairn respect.i.t like the lave.

She did not put it precisely in these words, but what she said came to the same thing; and then, having petted and fondled her little man sufficiently, she proceeded to business.

”The poor dean is still alive,” said she.

”So I hear, so I hear,” said the bishop. ”I'll go to the deanery directly after breakfast to-morrow.”

”We are going to this party at Ullathorne to-morrow morning, my dear; we must be there early, you know--by twelve o'clock I suppose.”

”Oh--ah!” said the bishop; ”then I'll certainly call the next day.”

”Was much said about it at ----?” asked Mrs. Proudie.

”About what?” said the bishop.

”Filling up the dean's place,” said Mrs. Proudie. As she spoke, a spark of the wonted fire returned to her eye, and the bishop felt himself to be a little less comfortable than before.

”Filling up the dean's place; that is, if the dean dies? Very little, my dear. It was mentioned, just mentioned.”

”And what did you say about it, Bishop?”

”Why, I said that I thought that if, that is, should--should the dean die, that is, I said I thought--” As he went on stammering and floundering, he saw that his wife's eye was fixed sternly on him.

Why should he encounter such evil for a man whom he loved so slightly as Mr. Slope? Why should he give up his enjoyments and his ease and such dignity as might be allowed to him to fight a losing battle for a chaplain? The chaplain, after all, if successful, would be as great a tyrant as his wife. Why fight at all? Why contend? Why be uneasy?

From that moment he determined to fling Mr. Slope to the winds and take the goods the G.o.ds provided.