t spirit
which so well becomes a widow and say openly, 'By my troth, sir, you
shall make me Mrs. Slope as soon as it is your pleasure to do so.'"

Mr. Slope had seldom in his life felt himself less at his ease.
There sat Mr. Thorne, laughing silently. There stood his old
antagonist, Mr. Arabin, gazing at him with all his eyes. There round
the door between the two rooms were clustered a little group of
people, including Miss Stanhope and the Revs. Messrs. Grey and Green,
all listening to his discomfiture. He knew that it depended solely
on his own wit whether or no he could throw the joke back upon the
lady. He knew that it stood him to do so if he possibly could, but
he had not a word. "'Tis conscience that makes cowards of us all."
He felt on his cheek the sharp points of Eleanor's fingers, and
did not know who might have seen the blow, who might have told the
tale to this pestilent woman who took such delight in jeering him.
He stood there, therefore, red as a carbuncle and mute as a fish;
grinning sufficiently to show his teeth; an object of pity.

But the signora had no pity; she knew nothing of mercy. Her present
object was to put Mr. Slope down, and she was determined to do it
thoroughly, now that she had him in her power.

"What, Mr. Slope, no answer? Why it can't possibly be that the woman
has been fool enough to refuse you? She can't surely be looking
out after a bishop. But I see how it is, Mr. Slope. Widows are
proverbially cautious. You should have let her alone till the new hat
was on your head, till you could show her the key of the deanery."

"Signora," said he at last, trying to speak in a tone of dignified
reproach, "you really permit yourself to talk on solemn subjects in a
very improper way."

"Solemn subjects--what solemn subject? Surely a dean's hat is not such
a solemn subject."

"I have no aspirations such as those you impute to me. Perhaps you
will drop the subject."

"Oh, certainly, Mr. Slope; but one word first. Go to her again with
the prime minister's letter in your pocket. I'll wager my shawl to
your shovel she does not refuse you then."

"I must say, signora, that I think you are speaking of the lady in a
very unjustifiable manner."

"And one other piece of advice, Mr. Slope; I'll only offer you one
other;" and then she commenced singing--

"It's gude to be merry and wise, Mr. Slope;
It's gude to be honest and true;
It's gude to be off with the old love--Mr. Slo