rely perceived that she was commissioned to tell her father
that such was the case, and she did not realize the fact that such a
communication should not have been made, in the first instance, to her
by an unmarried young clergyman. She felt, on the whole, grateful to
Mr. Slope and anxious to get on her dress that she might run with the
news to her father. Then she came to the allusion to her own pious
labours, and she said in her heart that Mr. Slope was an affected ass.
Then she went on again and was offended by her boy being called Mr.
Slope's darling--he was nobody's darling but her own, or at any rate
not the darling of a disagreeable stranger like Mr. Slope. Lastly she
arrived at the tresses and felt a qualm of disgust. She looked up in
the glass, and there they were before her, long and silken, certainly,
and very beautiful. I will not say but that she knew them to be so,
but she felt angry with them and brushed them roughly and carelessly.
She crumpled the letter up with angry violence, and resolved, almost
without thinking of it, that she would not show it to her father. She
would merely tell him the contents of it. She then comforted herself
again with her boy, had her dress fastened, and went down to dinner.

As she tripped down the stairs she began to ascertain that there was
some difficulty in her situation. She could not keep from her father
the news about the hospital, nor could she comfortably confess the
letter from Mr. Slope before the Grantlys. Her father had already
gone down. She had heard his step upon the lobby. She resolved
therefore to take him aside and tell him her little bit of news.
Poor girl! She had no idea how severely the unfortunate letter had
already been discussed.

When she entered the drawing-room, the whole party were there,
including Mr. Arabin, and the whole party looked glum and sour.
The two girls sat silent and apart as though they were aware that
something was wrong. Even Mr. Arabin was solemn and silent. Eleanor
had not seen him since breakfast. He had been the whole day at St.
Ewold's, and such having been the case, it was natural that he should
tell how matters were going on there. He did nothing of the kind,
however, but remained solemn and silent. They were all solemn and
silent. Eleanor knew in her heart that they had been talking about
her, and her heart misgave her as she thought of Mr. Slope and his
letter. At any rate she felt it to be quite impossible to speak to