rt of congratulation about the deanship,
and then went on with his hopes and fears--hopes that he might be
received as a son, and fears that he hardly deserved such good
fortune. Then he went back to the dean; it was the most thoroughly
satisfactory appointment, he said, of which he had ever heard.

"But! But! But--" said Mr. Harding, and then, failing to get any
further, he looked imploringly at the archdeacon.

"The truth is, Arabin," said the doctor, "that, after all you are not
destined to be son-in-law to a dean. Nor am I either: more's the
pity."

Mr. Arabin looked at him for explanation. "Is not Mr. Harding to be
the new dean?"

"It appears not," said the archdeacon. Mr. Arabin's face fell a
little, and he looked from one to the other. It was plainly to be
seen from them both that there was no cause of unhappiness in the
matter, at least not of unhappiness to them; but there was as yet no
elucidation of the mystery.

"Think how old I am," said Mr. Harding imploringly.

"Fiddlestick!" said the archdeacon.

"That's all very well, but it won't make a young man of me," said Mr.
Harding.

"And who is to be dean?" asked Mr. Arabin.

"Yes, that's the question," said the archdeacon. "Come, Mr. Precentor,
since you obstinately refuse to be anything else, let us know who is
to be the man. He has got the nomination in his pocket."

With eyes brim full of tears, Mr. Harding pulled out the letter and
handed it to his future son-in-law. He tried to make a little speech
but failed altogether. Having given up the document, he turned round
to the wall, feigning to blow his nose, and then sat himself down on
the old dean's dingy horsehair sofa. And here we find it necessary to
bring our account of the interview to an end.

Nor can we pretend to describe the rapture with which Mr. Harding was
received by his daughter. She wept with grief and wept with joy--with
grief that her father should, in his old age, still be without that
rank and worldly position which, according to her ideas, he had so
well earned; and with joy in that he, her darling father, should have
bestowed on that other dear one the good things of which he himself
would not open his hand to take possession. And here Mr. Harding again
showed his weakness. In the _melee_ of this exposal of their loves and
reciprocal affection, he found himself unable to resist the entreaties
of all parties that the lodgings in the High Street should be given
up. Eleanor