 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 gods provided.

'I am told,' said Mrs Proudie, speaking very slowly, 'that Mr Slope is looking to be the new dean.'

'Yes,—certainly, I believe he is,' said the bishop.

'And what does the archbishop say about that?' asked Mrs Proudie.

'Well, my dear, to tell the truth, I promised Mr Slope to speak to the archbishop. Mr Slope spoke to me about it. It was very arrogant of him, I must say,—but that is nothing to me.'

'Arrogant!' said Mrs Proudie; 'it is the most impudent piece of pretension I ever heard in my life. Mr Slope dean of Barchester, indeed! And what did you do in the matter, bishop?'

'Why, my dear, I did
