"Yes, my dear, I did. For a short time I did wish it. And I was
foolish in doing so. I am getting old now, and my chief worldly wish
is for peace and rest. Had I gone back to the hospital, I should
have had endless contentions with the bishop, contentions with
his chaplain, and contentions with the archdeacon. I am not up to
this now; I am not able to meet such troubles; and therefore I am
not ill-pleased to find myself left to the little church of St.
Cuthbert's. I shall never starve," added he, laughing, "as long as
you are here."

"But will you come and live with me, Papa?" she said earnestly,
taking him by both his hands. "If you will do that, if you will
promise that, I will own that you are right."

"I will dine with you to-day at any rate."

"No, but live here altogether. Give up that close, odious little
room in High Street."

"My dear, it's a very nice little room, and you are really quite
uncivil."

"Oh, Papa, don't joke. It's not a nice place for you. You say you
are growing old, though I am sure you are not."

"Am not I, my dear?"

"No, Papa, not old--not to say old. But you are quite old enough
to feel the want of a decent room to sit in. You know how lonely
Mary and I are here. You know nobody ever sleeps in the big front
bedroom. It is really unkind of you to remain up there alone, when
you are so much wanted here."

"Thank you, Nelly--thank you. But, my dear--"

"If you had been living here, Papa, with us, as I really think you
ought to have done, considering how lonely we are, there would have
been none of all this dreadful affair about Mr. Slope."

Mr. Harding, however, did not allow himself to be talked over into
giving up his own and only little _pied a terre_ in the High Street.
He promised to come and dine with his daughter, and stay with her,
and visit her, and do everything but absolutely live with her. It
did not suit the peculiar feelings of the man to tell his daughter
that though she had rejected Mr. Slope, and been ready to reject Mr.
Stanhope, some other more favoured suitor would probably soon appear,
and that on the appearance of such a suitor the big front bedroom
might perhaps be more frequently in requisition than at present. But
doubtless such an idea crossed his mind, and added its weight to
the other reasons which made him decide on still keeping the close,
odious little room in High Street.

The evening passed over quietly and in comfort. Eleanor was always
happ