e man pronounces itself more clearly. I take it that that is it.
Had Mrs. Proudie lived to be a hundred and fifty, she would have
spoken spiteful lies on her deathbed." Then Mrs. Grantly told herself
that her husband, should he live to be a hundred and fifty, would
still be expressing his horror of Mrs. Proudie,--even on his deathbed.

As soon as the letter from Mrs. Arabin had reached Plumstead, the
archdeacon and his wife arranged that they would both go together to
the deanery. There were the double tidings to be told,--those of Mr
Crawley's assured innocence, and those also of Mrs. Arabin's instant
return. And as they went together various ideas were passing through
their minds in reference to the marriage of their son with Grace
Crawley. They were both now reconciled to it. Mrs. Grantly had long
ceased to feel any opposition to it, even though she had not seen
Grace; and the archdeacon was prepared to give way. Had he not
promised that in a certain case he would give way, and had not that
case now come to pass? He had no wish to go back from his word. But
he had a difficulty in this,--that he liked to make all the affairs
of his life matter for enjoyment, almost for triumph; but how was
he to be triumphant over this marriage, or how even was he to enjoy
it, seeing that he had opposed it so bitterly? Those posters, though
they were now pulled down, had been up on all barn ends and walls,
patent,--alas, too patent,--to all the world of Barsetshire! "What
will Mr. Crawley do now, do you suppose?" said Mrs. Grantly.

"What will he do?"

"Yes; must he go on at Hogglestock?"

"What else?" said the archdeacon.

"It is a pity something could not be done for him after all he has
undergone. How on earth can he be expected to live there with a wife
and family, and no private means?" To this the archdeacon made no
answer. Mrs. Grantly had spoken almost immediately upon their quitting
Plumstead, and the silence was continued till the carriage had
entered the suburbs of the city. Then Mrs. Grantly spoke again, asking
a question, with some internal trepidation which, however, she
managed to hide from her husband. "When poor papa does go, what shall
you do about St Ewold's?" Now, St Ewold's was a rural parish lying
about two miles out of Barchester, the living of which was in the
gift of the archdeacon, and to which the archdeacon had presented
his father-in-law, under certain circumstances, which need not be
repeated in thi