'Hum,' said Mr Thorne.
'Passing over the heads of old men like my father and Archdeacon
Grantly—'
'Oh—oh!' said Mr Slope.
'The archdeacon would not accept it,' said Mr Arabin; whereupon Mr Slope smiled abominably, and said, as plainly as a look could speak, that the grapes were sour.
'Going over all our heads,' continued the signora; 'for, of course,
I consider myself one of the chapter.'
'If I am ever dean,' said Mr Slope—'that is, were I ever to become so, I should glory in such a canoness.'
'Oh, Mr Slope, stop; I haven't half done. There is another canoness for you to glory in. Mr Slope is not only to have the deanery, but a wife to put in it.'
Mr Slope again looked disconcerted.
'A wife with a large fortune, too. It never rains but it pours, does it Mr Thorne?'
'No, never,' said Mr Thorne, who did not quite relish talking about
Mr Slope and his affairs.