pe,
Before you are on with the new.

"Ha, ha, ha!"

And the signora, throwing herself back on her sofa, laughed merrily.
She little recked how those who heard her would, in their own
imaginations, fill up the little history of Mr. Slope's first love.
She little cared that some among them might attribute to her the
honour of his earlier admiration. She was tired of Mr. Slope and
wanted to get rid of him; she had ground for anger with him, and she
chose to be revenged.

How Mr. Slope got out of that room he never himself knew. He did
succeed ultimately, and probably with some assistance, in getting his
hat and escaping into the air. At last his love for the signora was
cured. Whenever he again thought of her in his dreams, it was not as
of an angel with azure wings. He connected her rather with fire and
brimstone, and though he could still believe her to be a spirit, he
banished her entirely out of heaven and found a place for her among
the infernal gods. When he weighed in the balance, as he not seldom
did, the two women to whom he had attached himself in Barchester, the
pre-eminent place in his soul's hatred was usually allotted to the
signora.

CHAPTER XLVII

The Dean Elect

During the entire next week Barchester was ignorant who was to be its
new dean. On Sunday morning Mr. Slope was decidedly the favourite,
but he did not show himself in the cathedral, and then he sank a point
or two in the betting. On Monday he got a scolding from the bishop in
the hearing of the servants, and down he went till nobody would have
him at any price; but on Tuesday he received a letter, in an official
cover, marked private, by which he fully recovered his place in the
public favour. On Wednesday he was said to be ill, and that did not
look well; but on Thursday morning he went down to the railway station
with a very jaunty air; and when it was ascertained that he had taken
a first-class ticket for London, there was no longer any room for
doubt on the matter.

While matters were in this state of ferment at Barchester, there was
not much mental comfort at Plumstead. Our friend the archdeacon had
many grounds for inward grief. He was much displeased at the result
of Dr. Gwynne's diplomatic mission to the palace, and did not even
scruple to say to his wife that had he gone himself, he would have
managed the affair much better. His wife did not agree with him, but
that did not mend the matter.

Mr. Quiverful's ap