ar away, but I
shall expect you to write me one line to say that you have forgiven
the sins of the family."

Eleanor half-whispered that she would, and then, without uttering
another word, crept out of the room and down the stairs, opened the
front door for herself without hearing or seeing anyone, and found
herself in the close.

It would be difficult to analyse Eleanor's feelings as she walked
home. She was nearly stupefied by the things that had been said to
her. She felt sore that her heart should have been so searched and
riddled by a comparative stranger, by a woman whom she had never
liked and never could like. She was mortified that the man whom she
owned to herself that she loved should have concealed his love from
her and shown it to another. There was much to vex her proud spirit.
But there was, nevertheless, an under stratum of joy in all this
which buoyed her up wondrously. She tried if she could disbelieve
what Madame Neroni had said to her, but she found that she could
not. It was true; it must be true. She could not, would not, did not
doubt it.

On one point she fully resolved to follow the advice given her.
If it should ever please Mr. Arabin to put such a question to her
as that suggested, her "yea" should be "yea." Would not all her
miseries be at an end if she could talk of them to him openly, with
her head resting on his shoulder?

CHAPTER XLVI

Mr. Slope's Parting Interview with the Signora

On the following day the signora was in her pride. She was dressed
in her brightest of morning dresses, and had quite a levee round
her couch. It was a beautifully bright October afternoon; all the
gentlemen of the neighbourhood were in Barchester, and those who
had the entry of Dr. Stanhope's house were in the signora's back
drawing-room. Charlotte and Mrs. Stanhope were in the front room, and
such of the lady's squires as could not for the moment get near the
centre of attraction had to waste their fragrance on the mother and
sister.

The first who came and the last to leave was Mr. Arabin. This was the
second visit he had paid to Madame Neroni since he had met her at
Ullathorne. He came, he knew not why, to talk about, he knew not what.
But, in truth, the feelings which now troubled him were new to him,
and he could not analyse them. It may seem strange that he should
thus come dangling about Madame Neroni because he was in love with
Mrs. Bold; but it was nevertheless the fact; and though