‘She certainly was not,’ said Mrs Grantly, who was anxious to encourage her husband, if she could do so without admitting anything which might injure herself afterwards.

’And she was at one time violently insolent to your father.  And even the bishop thought to trample on him.  Do you remember the bishop’s preaching against your father’s chanting?  If I ever forget it!’ And the archdeacon slapped his closed fist against his open hand.

‘Don’t, dear, don’t.  What is the good of being violent now?’

’Paltry little fool!  It will be long enough before such a chaunt as that is heard in and English cathedral again.’  Then Mrs Grantly got up and kissed her husband, but he, somewhat negligent of the kiss, went on with his speech.  ’But your father remembers nothing of it, and if there was a single human being who shed a tear in Barchester for that woman, I believe it was your father.  And it was the same with mine.  It came to that at last, that I could not bear to speak to him of any shortcomings as to one of his own clergymen.  I might as well have pricked him with a penknife.  And yet they say men become heartless and unfeeling as they grow old.’

‘Some do, I suppose.’

’Yes; the heartless and unfeeling do.  As the bodily strength fails and the power of control becomes lessened, the natural aptitude of the man pronounces itself more clearly.  I take it that that is it.  Had Mrs Proudie lived to be and 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 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 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 a 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?’