creaked out again; "how can you talk about shame? you know what all your friends think about this question."
The warden spread his paper on the table, placing it on the meagre blotting-book, which the hotel afforded, and sat himself down to write.
"You won't refuse me one request, papa?" continued his daughter; "you won't refuse to delay your letter for two short days?—two days can make no possible difference."
"My dear," said he naïvely, "if I waited till I got to Barchester, I might, perhaps, be prevented."
"But surely you would not wish to offend the bishop?" said she.
"God forbid! The bishop is not apt to take offence, and knows me too well to take in bad part anything that I may be called on to do."
"But, papa"
"Susan," said he, "my mind on this subject is made up; it is not without much repugnance that I act in opposition to the advice of such men as Sir Abraham Haphazard and the archdeacon; but in this matter I can take no advice, I cannot alter the resolution to which I have come."
"But two days, papa"
"No,—nor can I delay it. You may add to my present unhappiness by pressing me, but you cannot change my purpose; it will be a comfort to me if you will let the matter rest:" and, dipping his pen into the inkstand, he fixed his eyes intently on the paper.
There was something in his manner which taught his daughter to perceive that he was in earnest; she had at one time ruled supreme in her father's house, but she knew that there were moments when, mild and meek as he was, he would have his way, and the present was an occasion of the sort.
