'It is no prejudice, Eleanor. I have known the world longer than you have done. Mr Slope is altogether beneath you. You ought to know and feel that he is so. Pray—pray think of this before it is too late.'
'Too late!'
'Or if you will not believe me, ask Susan; you cannot think she is prejudiced against you. Or even consult your father, he is not prejudiced against you. Ask Mr Arabin—'
'You haven't spoken to Mr Arabin about this!' said she, jumping up and standing before him.
'Eleanor, all the world in and about Barchester will be speaking of it soon.'
'But you have spoken to Mr Arabin about me and Mr Slope?'
'Certainly I have, and he quite agrees with me.'
'Agree with what?' said she. 'I think you are trying to drive me mad.'
'He agrees with me and Susan that it is quite impossible you should be received at Plumstead as Mrs Slope.'
Not being favourites with the tragic muse we do not dare to attempt any description of Eleanor's face when she first heard the name of Mrs Slope pronounced as that which would or should or might at some time appertain to herself. The look, such as it was, Dr Grantly did not soon forget. For a moment or two she could find no words to express her deep anger and deep disgust; and, indeed, at this conjuncture, words did not come to her very freely.