Mr. Slope was going on with his catalogue of grievances, when he
was somewhat loudly interrupted by the archdeacon, who succeeded
in explaining that the diocesan architect, or rather his foreman,
was the person to be addressed on such subjects, and that he, Dr.
Grantly, had inquired as to the comfort of the palace merely as a
point of compliment. He was sorry, however, that so many things
had been found amiss: and then he rose from his chair to escape.

Mrs. Proudie, though she had contrived to lend her assistance
in recapitulating the palatial dilapidations, had not on that
account given up her hold of Mr. Harding, nor ceased from her
cross-examinations as to the iniquity of Sabbatical amusements.
Over and over again had she thrown out her "Surely, surely," at
Mr. Harding's devoted head, and ill had that gentleman been able
to parry the attack.

He had never before found himself subjected to such a nuisance.
Ladies hitherto, when they had consulted him on religious subjects,
had listened to what he might choose to say with some deference,
and had differed, if they differed, in silence. But Mrs. Proudie
interrogated him and then lectured. "Neither thou, nor thy son,
nor thy daughter, thy manservant, nor thy maidservant," said she
impressively, and more than once, as though Mr. Harding had forgotten
the words. She shook her finger at him as she quoted the favourite
law, as though menacing him with punishment, and then called upon him
categorically to state whether he did not think that travelling on
the Sabbath was an abomination and a desecration.

Mr. Harding had never been so hard pressed in his life. He felt that
he ought to rebuke the lady for presuming so to talk to a gentleman