‘And the coach–house, Dr Grantly,’ continued Mr Slope; ‘there is really hardly any room for a second carriage in the large coach–house, and the smaller one, of course, holds only one.’

‘And the gas,’ chimed in the lady; ‘there is no gas through the house, none whatever, but in the kitchen and passages. Surely the palace should have been fitted through with pipes for gas, and hot water too. There is no hot water laid on anywhere above the ground floor. Surely there should be the means of getting hot water in the bed–rooms without having it brought in jugs from the kitchen.’

The bishop had a decided opinion that there should be pipes for hot water. Hot water was very essential for the comfort of the palace. It was, indeed, a requisite in any decent gentleman’s house.

Mr Slope had remarked that the coping on the garden wall was in many places imperfect.

Mrs Proudie had discovered a large hole, evidently the work of rats, in the servants’ hall.

The bishop expressed an utter detestation of rats. There was nothing, he believed, in this world, that he so much hated as a rat.

Mr Slope had, moreover, observed that the locks of the out–houses were very imperfect: he might specify the coal–cellar, and the wood–house.

Mrs Proudie had also seen that those on the doors of the servants’ bedrooms were in an equally bad condition; indeed the locks all through the house were old–fashioned and unserviceable.

The bishop thought that a great deal depended on a good lock, and quite as much on the key. He had observed that the fault very often lay with the key, especially if the wards were in any way twisted.

Mr Slope was going on with his catalogue of grievances, when he was somewhat loudly interrupted by the archdeacon who succeeded in explaining that the diocesan architect, or rather his foreman, was the person to be addressed on such subjects; and that he, Dr Grantly, had inquired as to the comfort of the palace, merely as a point of compliment. He was very sorry, however, that so many things had been found amiss: and then he rose from his chair to escape.

Mrs Proudie, though she had contrived to lend her assistance in recapitulating the palatial dilapidations, had not on that account given up her hold of Mr Harding, nor ceased from her cross–examination as the iniquity of Sabbatical amusements. Over and over again had she thrown out her ‘surely, surely,’ at Mr Harding’s devoted head, and ill had that gentleman been able to parry the attack.

He had never before found himself subjected to such a nuisance. Ladies hitherto, when they had consulted him on religious subjects, had listened to what he might choose to say with some deference, and had differed, it they differed, in silence. But Mrs Proudie interrogated him, and then lectured. ‘Neither thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, nor thy man servant, nor thy maid servant,’ said she, impressively, and more than once, as though Mr Harding had forgotten the words. She shook her finger at him as she quoted the favourite law, as though menacing him with punishment; and then called upon him categorically to state whether he did not think that travelling on the Sabbath was an abomination and a desecration.

Mr Harding had never been so hard pressed in his life. He felt that he ought to rebuke the lady for presuming so to talk to a gentleman and a clergyman so may years her senior; but he recoiled from the idea of scolding the bishop’s wife, in the bishop’s presence, on his first visit to the palace; moreover, to tell the truth, he was somewhat afraid of her. She, seeing him sit silent and absorbed, by no means refrained from the attack.

‘I hope, Mr Harding,’ said she, shaking her head slowly and solemnly, ‘I hope you will not leave me to think that you approve of Sabbath travelling,’ and she looked a look of unutterable meaning into his eyes.