r to explain why she would not do so.
Now she could not bring herself to explain to Charlotte Stanhope all
that had passed at Plumstead.

But it was to her a sore necessity. She thought of a thousand little
schemes for avoiding it; she would plead illness and not go at all;
she would persuade Mary Bold to go, although not asked, and then make
a necessity of having a carriage of her own to take her sister-in-law;
anything, in fact, she could do, rather than be seen by Mr. Arabin
getting out of the same carriage with Mr. Slope. However, when the
momentous morning came, she had no scheme matured, and then Mr. Slope
handed her into Dr. Stanhope's carriage and, following her steps, sat
opposite to her.

The bishop returned on the eve of the Ullathorne party, and was
received at home with radiant smiles by the partner of all his cares.
On his arrival he crept up to his dressing-room with somewhat of a
palpitating heart; he had overstayed his alloted time by three days,
and was not without much fear of penalties. Nothing, however, could
be more affectionately cordial than the greeting he received; the
girls came out and kissed him in a manner that was quite soothing to
his spirit; and Mrs. Proudie, "albeit, unused to the melting mood,"
squeezed him in her arms and almost in words called him her dear,
darling, good, pet, little bishop. All this was a very pleasant
surprise.

Mrs. Proudie had somewhat changed her tactics; not that she had seen
any cause to disapprove of her former line of conduct, but she had
now brought matters to such a point that she calculated that she
might safely do so. She had got the better of Mr. Slope, and she now
thought well to show her husband that when allowed to get the better
of everybody, when obeyed by him and permitted to rule over others,
she would take care that he should have his reward. Mr. Slope had
not a chance against her; not only could she stun the poor bishop by
her midnight anger, but she could assuage and soothe him, if she so
willed, by daily indulgences. She could furnish his room for him,
turn him out as smart a bishop as any on the bench, give him good
dinners, warm fires, and an easy life--all this she would do if
he would but be quietly obedient. But, if not,--! To speak sooth,
however, his sufferings on that dreadful night had been so poignant
as to leave him little spirit for further rebellion.

As soon as he had dressed himself, she returned to his room. "I hope
you