ll for the happiness of
the clerical beards that this little delay took place, as otherwise
decency would have forbidden them to wag at all.

But there was one sad man among them that day. Mr. Arabin's beard
did not wag as it should have done. He had come there hoping the
best, striving to think the best, about Eleanor; turning over in his
mind all the words he remembered to have fallen from her about Mr.
Slope, and trying to gather from them a conviction unfavourable to
his rival. He had not exactly resolved to come that day to some
decisive proof as to the widow's intention, but he had meant, if
possible, to recultivate his friendship with Eleanor, and in his
present frame of mind any such recultivation must have ended in a
declaration of love.

He had passed the previous night alone at his new parsonage, and it
was the first night that he had so passed. It had been dull and sombre
enough. Mrs. Grantly had been right in saying that a priestess would
be wanting at St. Ewold's. He had sat there alone with his glass
before him, and then with his tea-pot, thinking about Eleanor Bold.
As is usual in such meditations, he did little but blame her; blame
her for liking Mr. Slope, and blame her for not liking him; blame
her for her cordiality to himself, and blame her for her want of
cordiality; blame her for being stubborn, headstrong, and passionate;
and yet the more he thought of her the higher she rose in his
affection. If only it should turn out, if only it could be made to
turn out, that she had defended Mr. Slope, not from love, but on
principle, all would be right. Such principle in itself would be
admirable, lovable, womanly; he felt that he could be pleased to
allow Mr. Slope just so much favour as that. But if--And then Mr.
Arabin poked his fire most unnecessarily, spoke crossly to his new
parlour-maid who came in for the tea-things, and threw himself back in
his chair determined to go to sleep. Why had she been so stiff-necked
when asked a plain question? She could not but have known in what
light he regarded her. Why had she not answered a plain question and
so put an end to his misery? Then, instead of going to sleep in his
armchair, Mr. Arabin walked about the room as though he had been
possessed.

On the following morning, when he attended Miss Thorne's behests, he
was still in a somewhat confused state. His first duty had been to
converse with Mrs. Clantantram, and that lady had found it impossible
to eli