l
her family belonged to the Whig party. Now, among all ranks of
Englishmen and Englishwomen (Mrs. Proudie should, I think, be ranked
among the former on the score of her great strength of mind), no one
is so hostile to lowly born pretenders to high station as the pure
Whig.

The bishop thought it necessary to exculpate himself. "Why, my dear,"
said he, "it appeared to me that you and Mr. Slope did not get on
quite so well as you used to do!"

"Get on!" said Mrs. Proudie, moving her foot uneasily on the
hearth-rug and compressing her lips in a manner that betokened much
danger to the subject of their discourse.

"I began to find that he was objectionable to you"--Mrs. Proudie's
foot worked on the hearth-rug with great rapidity--"and that you
would be more comfortable if he was out of the palace"--Mrs.
Proudie smiled, as a hyena may probably smile before he begins his
laugh--"and therefore I thought that if he got this place, and so
ceased to be my chaplain, you might be pleased at such an arrangement."

And then the hyena laughed out. Pleased at such an arrangement!
Pleased at having her enemy converted into a dean with twelve hundred
a year! Medea, when she describes the customs of her native country
(I am quoting from Robson's edition), assures her astonished auditor
that in her land captives, when taken, are eaten.

"You pardon them?" says Medea.

"We do indeed," says the mild Grecian.

"We eat them!" says she of Colchis, with terrific energy.

Mrs. Proudie was the Medea of Barchester; she had no idea of not
eating Mr. Slope. Pardon him! Merely get rid of him! Make a dean
of him! It was not so they did with their captives in her country,
among people of her sort! Mr. Slope had no such mercy to expect; she
would pick him to the very last bone.

"Oh, yes, my dear, of course he'll cease to be your chaplain," said
she. "After what has passed, that must be a matter of course. I
couldn't for a moment think of living in the same house with such a
man. Besides, he has shown himself quite unfit for such a situation;
making broils and quarrels among the clergy; getting you, my dear,
into scrapes; and taking upon himself as though he were as good as
bishop himself. Of course he'll go. But because he leaves the palace,
that is no reason why he should get into the deanery."

"Oh, of course not!" said the bishop; "but to save appearances, you
know, my dear--"

"I don't want to save appearances; I want Mr. Slope to a