is it?"

"Old Proudie, from Barchester."

"Why, we had him here years ago, and he resigned."

"But he's to come on again now for a spell. It always seems to me
that the bishops ain't a bit of use here. They only get blown up, and
snubbed, and shoved into corners by the others."

"You young reprobate,--to talk of shoving an archbishop into a
corner."

"Well,--don't they? It's only for the name of it they have them.
There's the Bishop of Broomsgrove;--he's always sauntering about the
place, looking as though he'd be so much obliged if somebody would
give him something to do. He's always smiling, and so gracious,--just
as if he didn't feel above half sure that he had any right to be
where he is, and he thought that perhaps somebody was going to kick
him."

"And so old Proudie is coming up again," said Brooke. "It certainly
is very much the same to us whom they send. He'll get shoved into a
corner, as you call it,--only that he'll go into the corner without
any shoving." Then there came in a messenger with a card, and Brooke
learned that Hugh Stanbury was waiting for him in the strangers'
room. In performing the promise made to Dorothy, he had called upon
her brother as soon as he was back in London, but had not found him.
This now was the return visit.

"I thought I was sure to find you here," said Hugh.

"Pretty nearly sure from eleven till five," said Brooke. "A hard
stepmother like the Civil Service does not allow one much chance of
relief. I do get across to the club sometimes for a glass of sherry
and a biscuit,--but here I am now, at any rate; and I'm very glad
you have come." Then there was some talk between them about affairs
at Exeter; but as they were interrupted before half an hour was
over their heads by a summons brought for Burgess from one of
the secretaries, it was agreed that they should dine together at
Burgess's club on the following day. "We can manage a pretty good
beef-steak," said Brooke, "and have a fair glass of sherry. I don't
think you can get much more than that anywhere nowadays,--unless you
want a dinner for eight at three guineas a head. The magnificence of
men has become so intolerable now that one is driven to be humble in
one's self-defence." Stanbury assured his acquaintance that he was
anything but magnificent in his own ideas, that cold beef and beer
was his usual fare, and at last allowed the clerk to wait upon the
secretary.

"I wouldn't have any other fellow to meet you