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"Then do it," said the lady.

"Bishop," she had said to him immediately after breakfast, "have you signed the appointment yet?"

Before setting off for the garden party at Ullathorne, Mrs Proudie had spoken to her lord, once and for all, about the post of warden. She was determined that Mr Quiverful should have it.

"No, my dear, it is not exactly signed yet."

The bishop did it. Mrs Proudie herself wrote to Mr and Mrs Quiverful, asking them to come to the palace at eleven o'clock the next morning. Then the Proudies drove to Ullathorne, where the bishop spent a very pleasant day. And in the evening he was given a glass of wine in his wife's sitting room, and allowed to read his newspaper comfortably by the fire. What great comfort there is for husbands who obey their wives!

Mr and Mrs Quiverful's hopes were raised again when they received Mrs Proudie's letter, but this time they were not disappointed. When they presented themselves at the bishop's palace as requested, they were told the good news at once. That evening there was great joy at Puddingdale, with so much kissing and crying and laughing that they almost forgot to eat.

It is now five years since we called our readers' attention to Hiram's Hospital in the quiet city of Barchester. There is now another matter in Barchester that we wish to comment on. Dr Trefoil, the dean, died yesterday. His only fault was his great age, which is something we all hope to be guilty of. But we consider that this post should now be filled by a much younger man, who has the energy and strength to work for the good of the Church. Mr Obadiah Slope's name has been mentioned to us. He is at present the bishop's chaplain. A better man could hardly be found. He is young, enthusiastic, knowledgeable and, we believe, a truly good man. Such a choice would go far to raise public confidence in the present system of Church appointments, and would show people that, from now on, our Church will not offer easy, well-paid work to elderly, worn-out clergymen.

On that same day Mr Slope was delighted to find that his journalist friend, Mr Towers, had written a most flattering article about him in The Jupiter. It said:

"Oh Mary, I'm so glad you didn't go!" cried Eleanor. "It was an awful party!"

Mr Slope read this article with considerable satisfaction. Sixty thousand copies of The Jupiter, distributed around the country, were, in his eyes, the most powerful way of influencing public opinion. He was very grateful to Mr Towers, and looked forward to the day when he, as dean, would entertain his friend to an excellent dinner.

But his feelings were not all of triumph. He was still angry with the widow, for the way in which she had refused his proposal. And he would have liked to hate the signora, but he was passionately attracted to her and could not resist her charms.

Poor Mrs Bold was very unhappy when she got home from Ullathorne, and also quite exhausted. She found her sister-in-law, Mary, in the sitting room, playing with little Johnny.

"I have nothing to regret, then," said Mary cheerfully.

"You have nothing to regret, but oh! Mary, I have -- so much!" and Eleanor began wildly kissing her boy, while tears ran down her face.

At first Eleanor was unwilling to tell Mary what had happened, because Mary had never approved of the friendship with Mr Slope. But Mary was so kind and so comforting that Eleanor soon told her the whole story, and felt much better for it. There was not the slightest touch of triumph about Mary; she never said, "I told you so," but sympathized strongly with Eleanor.

"Good heavens, Eleanor, what is the matter?" asked Mary, concerned. "Let me make you some tea. You are tired."

"If I'd stabbed him with a knife, he would have deserved it! But what will they say about it at Plumstead?"

"I don't think I would tell them, if I were you," said Mary. And Eleanor began to think she would not.

"I know I was wrong," said Eleanor, "to hit Mr Slope, but I had to protect myself."

"He certainly deserved it!" said Mary firmly.

The next day Eleanor stayed at home, but she heard the news that the dean had died, and that Mr Quiverful had been appointed warden. In the evening her father came to visit her, and she had to repeat the story, or as much of it as she could bring herself to tell him. He did not seem surprised at Mr Slope's declaration of love. So she asked him if he had expected it.

"Yes, my dear, quite true. And I am delighted for Mr Quiverful and his large family. I am getting old now, and my main wish is for peace and quiet, not for constant arguments with the bishop, his chaplain, and the archdeacon. I shall never starve, you know," he added laughing, "as long as you are here."

"But I did not give him the slightest encouragement!"

"I do not think it at all strange that anyone should admire my Eleanor," he replied fondly.

Mr Harding thought it safer not to reply to this, but simply said, "You'll tell the archdeacon? Or Susan? You'll tell them they were wrong about you wanting to marry that man?"

"I shall never willingly mention Mr Slope's name to either of them," said Eleanor, a little stiffly. "But father, is it true you are not going to be warden, after all?"

"But will you come and live with me here, father? It would make me so very happy if you did!"

Later that evening, Eleanor and Mary were singing while he was playing the piano, when a maid entered the room. She brought a very small note in a beautiful pink envelope; it quite filled the room with perfume as it lay on the silver dish.

"No, thank you, my dear. I'm quite satisfied with my rooms in the High Street. But I will have dinner with you tonight!"

Thursday evening

My dear Mrs Bold,

May I ask you, if you would be so kind, to call on me tomorrow. Please say what time would best suit you. I need hardly say that if I could call on you, I would not ask you to come to me. I partly know what happened the other day, and I promise that you shall meet with no annoyance if you come. My brother leaves us for London today, and from there he goes to Italy. I have something of considerable importance to say to you. Please excuse me, therefore, for writing to you, even if you do not agree to my request.

The three of them read this letter together, and decided, after some discussion, that Eleanor should send a reply, saying she would see the signora at twelve o'clock the next day.

"The servant is waiting for an answer, madam," said the maid.

Believe me, I am, very sincerely, yours,

When Charlotte had arrived home from the Ullathorne party the previous day, she had waited eagerly for the carriage to return with Bertie, and, she hoped, the news of his engagement to Mrs Bold. But it was only her father's step that she heard in the hall, and she realized her brother's attempt at courting the widow must have failed. This was disappointing, but not completely unexpected.

Eleanor blushed as she took the note. She guessed it came from the signora. The note said:

Madeline Neroni

"Tell me where your brother is, and what his plans for the future are now!" ordered the old man. "I'm glad that charming Mrs Bold is not going to be sacrificed to such an idle, heartless young man as my son! Marriage, indeed! Who would marry him? It was just a foolish idea of yours!"

"Very well. Then I suppose he must go back to Italy. Life is cheaper there." And Charlotte, by using all her powers of persuasion, managed to get her father to agree to make his son one last payment, as long as Bertie left England the next day.

Dr Stanhope was angry with Madeline too, for expecting him to pay all her bills, and for behaving so badly with all the unmarried men in Barchester. He was even angry with Charlotte, for defending her brother and sister. He felt that his children had damaged his reputation in the city, and Charlotte realized that the whole family, not just Bertie, would have to return to Italy soon.

"Father, it's no use scolding me. I've done my best for him and you."

Her father sighed deeply. "He'll ruin me, with his debts! I've made up my mind, Charlotte. He shall eat and drink no more in this house! He must leave. I don't care where he goes."

She was called to her father's room, and when she entered, found him angrier than she had ever seen him before.

"This is very kind of you, Mrs Bold, very kind, after what has happened," said the signora, with her sweetest smile.

But two days later, when Eleanor arrived at the Stanhopes' house, Bertie had already left for Italy, and the house was peaceful. She was shown up to the signora's private sitting room, without seeing any of the family, which was a great relief to her.

"Your letter almost obliged me to come."

"That is true. But how cold you are to me! I know you have good reason to be displeased with us all. But I did not send for you to talk about that. Please come closer to me, Mrs Bold."

Eleanor obeyed, bringing her chair closer to the sofa.

Eleanor would have given the world not to blush, but her blood was not at her own command. She did blush, right up to her hair, and the signora, who had asked her to come closer in order to observe her face, saw it.

"And now I am going to tell you something, Mrs Bold, which you may think is too personal. But I know I am right to do so. I believe you know Mr Arabin?"

"If you know Mr Arabin, I'm sure you must like him," continued Madeline. "Everyone who knows him must like him."

Mrs Bold could not speak. She felt hot and faint.

"How stiff you are with me," said Madeline. "And yet I'm doing for you all that one woman can do to serve another."

"I don't want to be stiff," she said, trying to excuse herself, "but this conversation is so very strange!"

The widow began to think that perhaps the signora's friendship was real. Then another thought came to her -- Mr Arabin was too precious to lose. Even if she felt scorn for the signora and her way of life, perhaps Madeline could help her.

"Well, then, it may become stranger still," said Madeline, turning her own face full on her companion's. "Do you love him, love him with all your heart and soul? Because I can tell you, he loves you, thinks of you and nothing else, is thinking of you now as he attempts to write his sermon for next Sunday's service. What would I not give to be loved in such a way by such a man!"

Mrs Bold stood up, speechless, and took the signora's hand. Madeline went on, "What I tell you is God's own truth, and it is for you to use it for your own happiness. But you must not betray me. You know his secret now, and I advise you to use the knowledge. And remember, he is not like other men. You mustn't expect him to come to you with pretty presents, to kneel at your feet and to flatter you. There are plenty of men who do that, but he is not one of them. With him, yes means yes, and no means no. Even if his heart should break, the woman who refuses him once will have refused him for ever. And now, Mrs Bold, I will not keep you. If ever you are a happy wife in that man's house, I and my family will be far away. But I shall expect you to write me one line to say you have forgiven the sins of the Stanhope family."

And then came Mr Slope. All the world knew that he was generally considered likely to become dean. He therefore held his head high and walked in a self-important way, as a dean might.

Eleanor half whispered that she would, and then crept out of the room, down the stairs and out into the open air. The fact that this woman, whom she could never like, knew so much about her and the man she loved, was damaging to her pride. But soon this feeling was swept away in the wild joy that filled her heart -- he loved her! She was fully determined to follow Madeline's advice; if he ever proposed to her, her "yes" would certainly be "yes".

On the following day the signora was in her brightest morning dress, and had a whole group of men around her sofa. The first to come and the last to leave was Mr Arabin, to whom the signora was unusually kind and gentle. Mr Thorne was there too, in his best suit; even a respectable, fifty-year-old gentleman could fall into the signora's trap. There were also a number of eager young clergymen, smaller flies who could not keep away from such a powerful, beautiful spider.

"He is to be our new dean, you know, Mr Thorne," she said to the squire, who was trying to follow the conversation.

"Yes, indeed. And not only that, he is to have a wife too. A wife with a large fortune. When will it be, Mr Slope?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, smiling. He did not dislike people connecting his name with the post of dean.

"Not more than he deserves, I'm sure," said Mr Arabin.

The signora had been looking forward to his visit. "Mr Slope," said she, "I hear you are triumphing on all sides."

"Really, signora?" asked Mr Thorne doubtfully.

Mr Slope did not look quite so satisfied now.

"You are the winner, both in love and war," she replied.

"Mr Arabin," she continued, "don't you think Mr Slope is a very lucky man?"

To Mr Arabin this conversation was peculiarly painful, but he could not stop listening.

"When will what be?" said Mr Slope, pretending to smile.

"Your marriage, Mr Slope. Now do tell us, we're all dying to know, when is the widow to be made Mrs Dean?"

"Come, come, Mr Slope," continued the signora. "We all know you proposed to her the other day at Ullathorne. How did she accept you? With a simple 'yes', or with the two 'no's' which make a 'yes'? Or some other way? Tell us, do!"

It's good to be honest and true,

Mr Slope had never in his life felt so embarrassed. Everybody in the room was looking at him, ready to laugh at his discomfort, except for Mr Arabin, who was staring miserably at him. This was the moment to think of a sharp reply to the signora, but nothing came to mind; he had not a word to say.

Before you are on with the new!

The signora had no pity; she knew nothing of mercy, now that she had Mr Slope in her power. "No answer, Mr Slope? It can't possibly be that the woman was fool enough to refuse you! Perhaps she wasn't satisfied with a dean, but is waiting for a bishop to come along! Now here is a piece of advice for you, Mr Slope. Listen carefully," and she started singing,

It's good to be happy and wise, Mr Slope,

"Ha, ha, ha!" And the signora, throwing herself back on her sofa, laughed heartily. She had taken her revenge on him, for courting herself and Mrs Bold at the same time.

How Mr Slope got out of that room, he never knew. Possibly he was given some assistance. But when he reached the fresh air of the street, he realized that at last his love for the signora was cured. Whenever he thought of her in his dreams from now on, she did not appear as a beautiful angel, but as a hateful devil.

It's good to be off with the old love, Mr Slope,