‘My question is this, Mrs Bold; is your father really anxious to get back to the hospital?’

‘Why do you ask me?’ said she. ‘Why don’t you ask himself?’

‘My dear Mrs Bold, I’ll tell you why. There are wheels within wheels, all of which I would explain to you, only I fear there is not time. It is essentially necessary that I should have an answer to this question, otherwise I cannot know how to advance your father’s wishes; and it is quite impossible that I should ask himself. No one can esteem your father more than I do, but I doubt if this feeling is reciprocal.’ It certainly was not. ‘I must be candid with you as the only means of avoiding ultimate consequences, which may be most injurious to Mr Harding. I fear there is a feeling, I will not even call it a prejudice, with regard to myself in Barchester, which is not in my favour. You remember the sermon—’

‘Oh! Mr Slope, we need not go back to that,’ said Eleanor.

‘For one moment, Mrs Bold. It is not that I may talk of myself, but because it is so essential that you should understand how matters stand. That sermon may have been ill–judged,—it was certainly misunderstood; but I will say nothing about that now; only this, that it did give rise to a feeling against myself which your father shares with others. It may be that he has proper cause, but the result is that he is not inclined to meet me on friendly terms. I put it to yourself whether you do not know this to be the case.’

Eleanor made no answer, and Mr Slope, in the eagerness of his address, edged his chair a little nearer to the widow’s seat, unperceived by her.

‘Such being so,’ continued Mr Slope, ‘I cannot ask him this question as I can ask it of you. In spite of my delinquencies since I came to Barchester you have allowed me to regard you as a friend.’ Eleanor made a little motion with her head which was hardly confirmatory, but Mr Slope if he noticed it, did not appear to do so. ‘To you I can speak openly, and explain the feelings of my heart. This your father would not allow. Unfortunately the bishop has thought it right that this matter of the hospital should pass through my hands. There have been some details to get up with which he would not trouble himself, and thus it has come to pass that I was forced to have an interview with your father on the matter.’

‘I am aware of that,’ said Eleanor.

‘Of course,’ said he. ‘In that interview Mr Harding left the impression on my mind that he did not wish to return to the hospital.’

‘How could that be?’ said Eleanor, at last stirred up to forget the cold propriety of demeanour which she had determined to maintain.

‘My dear Mrs Bold, I give you my word that such was the case,’ said he, again getting a little nearer to her. ‘And what is more than that, before my interview with Mr Harding, certain persons at the palace, I do not mean the bishop, had told me that such was the fact. I own, I hardly believed it; I own, I thought that your father would wish on every account, for conscience’ sake, for the sake of those old men, for old association, and the memory of dear days gone by, on every account I thought that he would wish to resume his duties. But I was told that such was not his wish; and he certainly left me with the impression that I had been told the truth.’

‘Well!’ said Eleanor, now sufficiently roused on the matter.

‘I fear Miss Bold’s step,’ said Mr Slope, ‘would it be asking too great a favour to beg you to—I know you can manage anything with Miss Bold.’

Eleanor did not like the word manage, but still she went out, and asked Mary to leave them alone for another quarter of an hour.