‘But—’ began Mr Harding.

‘But me no buts,’ said the archdeacon. ‘I never was so happy in my life. It was just the proper thing to do. Upon my honour, I’ll never say another word against Lord—the longest day I have to live.’

‘That’s Dr Gwynne’s doing, you may be sure,’ said Mrs Grantly, who greatly liked the master of Lazarus, he being an orderly married man with a large family.

‘I suppose it is,’ said the archdeacon.

‘Oh, papa, I am so truly delighted,’ said Mrs Grantly, getting up and kissing her father.

‘But, my dear,’ said Mr Harding. It was all in vain that he strove to speak; nobody would listen to him.

‘Well, Mr Dean,’ said the archdeacon, triumphing; ‘the deanery gardens will be some consolation for the hospital elms. Well, poor Quiverful! I won’t begrudge him his good fortune any longer.’

No, indeed,’ said Mrs Grantly. ‘Poor woman, she has fourteen children. I am sure I am very glad they have got it.’

‘So am I,’ said Mr Harding.

‘I would give twenty pounds,’ said the archdeacon, ‘to see how Mr Slope will look when he hears it.’ The idea of Mr Slope’s discomfiture formed no small part of the archdeacon’s pleasure.

At last Mr Harding was allowed to go up–stairs and wash his hands, having, in fact, said very little of all that he had come out to Plumstead on purpose to say. Nor could anything more be said till the servants were gone after dinner. The joy of Dr Grantly was so uncontrollable that he could not refrain from calling his father–in–law Mr Dean before the men; and therefore, it was soon matter for discussion in the lower regions how Mr Harding, instead of his daughter’s future husband, was to be the new dean, and various were the opinions on the matter. The cook and butler, who were advanced in years, thought that it was just as it should be; but the footman and lady’s maid, who were younger, thought it was a great shame that Mr Slope should lose his chance.

‘He’s a mean chap all the same,’ said the footman; ‘and it an’t along of him that I says so. But I always did admire the missus’s sister; and she’d well become the situation.’

While these were the ideas down–stairs, a very great difference of opinion existed above. As soon as the cloth was drawn and the wine on the table, Mr Harding made for himself the opportunity of speaking. It was, however, with much troubling that he said—

‘It’s very kind of Lord—very kind, and I feel it deeply, most deeply. I am, I must confess, gratified by the offer—’

‘I should think so,’ said the archdeacon.

‘But, all the same, I am afraid that I can’t accept it.’

The decanter almost fell from the archdeacon’s had upon the table; and the start he made was so great as to make his wife jump from her chair. Not accept the deanship! If it really ended in this, there would be no longer any doubt that his father–in–law was demented. The question now was whether a clergyman with low rank, and preferment amounting to less than 200 pounds a year, should accept high rank, 1200 pounds a year, and one of the most desirable positions which his profession had to afford!

‘What!’ said the archdeacon, gasping for breath, and staring at his guest as though the violence of his emotion had almost thrown him into a fit.