following it. His maxim was never to lose a chance. The bishop, however, at the present moment was not very anxious to increase Mr Slope’s circle of acquaintance among his clerical brethren. He had his own reasons for dropping any marked allusion to his domestic chaplain, and he therefore made his shoulder rather cold for the occasion.

‘Very, very,’ said he without turning round, or even deigning to look at Mr Slope. ‘And therefore, Dr Gwynne, I really think that you will find that the hebdomadal board will exercise as wide and as general an authority as at the present moment. I, for one, Dr Gwynne—’

‘Dr Gwynne,’ said Mr Slope, raising his hat, and resolving not to be outwitted by such an insignificant little goose as the bishop of Barchester.

The master of Lazarus also raised his hat and bowed very politely to Mr Slope. There is not a more courteous gentleman in the queen’s dominions than the master of Lazarus.

‘My lord,’ said Mr Slope, ‘pray do me the honour of introducing me to Dr Gwynne. The opportunity is too much in my favour to be lost.’

The bishop had no help for it. ‘My chaplain, Dr Gwynne,’ said he; ‘my present chaplain, Mr Slope.’ he certainly made the introduction as unsatisfactory to the chaplain as possible, and by the use of the word present, seemed to indicate that Mr Slope might probably not long enjoy the honour which he now held. But Mr Slope cared nothing for this. He understood the innuendo, and disregarded it. It might probably come to pass that he would be in a situation to resign his chaplaincy before the bishop was in a situation to dismiss him from it. What need the future dean of Barchester care for the bishop, or for the bishop’s wife? Had not Mr Slope, just as he was entering Dr Stanhope’s carriage, received an important note from Tom Towers of the Jupiter? Had he not that note this moment in his pocket?

So disregarding the bishop, he began to open out a conversation with the master of Lazarus.

But suddenly and interruption came, not altogether unwelcome to Mr Slope. One of the bishop’s servants came up to his master’s shoulder with a long, grave face, and whispered into the bishop’s ear.

‘What is it, John?’ said the bishop.

‘The dean, my lord; he is dead.’

Mr Slope had no further desire to converse with the master of Lazarus, and was very soon on his road back to Barchester.

Eleanor, as we have said, having declared her intention of never holding further communication with Mr Slope, ran hurriedly back towards the house. The thought, however, of what she had done grieved her greatly, and she could not abstain from bursting into tears. ’Twas thus she played the second act in that day’s melodrama.