s act of self-jurisdiction should
be as nearly as possible a _fait accompli_. He begged, and coaxed,
and threatened the bishop with a view of making him also write at
once to Mr. Harding, but the bishop, though temporally emancipated
from his wife, was not yet enthralled to Mr. Slope. He said, and
probably said truly, that such an offer must be made in some official
form; that he was not yet prepared to sign the form; and that he
should prefer seeing Mr. Harding before he did so. Mr. Slope might,
however, beg Mr. Harding to call upon him. Not disappointed with his
achievement Mr. Slope went his way. He first posted the precious
note which he had in his pocket, and then pursued other enterprises
in which we must follow him in other chapters.

Mrs. Proudie, having received such satisfaction as was to be derived
from slamming her husband's door, did not at once betake herself to
Mrs. Quiverful. Indeed, for the first few moments after her repulse
she felt that she could not again see that lady. She would have to
own that she had been beaten, to confess that the diadem had passed
from her brow, and the sceptre from her hand! No, she would send a
message to her with a promise of a letter on the next day or the day
after. Thus resolving, she betook herself to her bedroom, but here
she again changed her mind. The air of that sacred enclosure somewhat
restored her courage and gave her more heart. As Achilles warmed at
the sight of his armour, as Don Quixote's heart grew strong when he
grasped his lance, so did Mrs. Proudie look forward to fresh laurels,
as her eye fell on her husband's pillow. She would not despair.
Having so resolved, she descended with dignified mien and refreshed
countenance to Mrs. Quiverful.

This scene in the bishop's study took longer in the acting than in
the telling. We have not, perhaps, had the whole of the conversation.
At any rate Mrs. Quiverful was beginning to be very impatient, and
was thinking that Farmer Subsoil would be tired of waiting for her,
when Mrs. Proudie returned. Oh, who can tell the palpitations of
that maternal heart, as the suppliant looked into the face of the
great lady to see written there either a promise of house, income,
comfort and future competence, or else the doom of continued and
ever-increasing poverty! Poor mother! Poor wife! There was little
there to comfort you!

"Mrs. Quiverful," thus spoke the lady with considerable austerity, and
without sitting down herself,