“Still waters run deepest,” said Mrs. Harold Smith.
“Hush-h-h,” looked, rather than spoke, Mrs. Proudie. “The grief of spirit which that bad man caused me nearly broke my heart, and all the while, you know, he was courting—” and then Mrs. Proudie whispered a name.
“What, the dean’s wife!” shouted Miss Dunstable, in a voice which made the coachman of the next carriage give a chuck to his horses as he overheard her.
“The archdeacon’s sister-in-law!” screamed Mrs. Harold Smith.
“What might he not have attempted next?” said Miss Dunstable.
“She wasn’t the dean’s wife then, you know,” said Mrs. Proudie, explaining.
“Well, you’ve a gay set in the chapter, I must say,” said Miss Dunstable. “You ought to make one of them in Barchester, Mr. Robarts.”
“Only perhaps Mrs. Robarts might not like it,” said Mrs. Harold Smith.
“And then the schemes which he tried on with the bishop!” said Mrs. Proudie.
“It’s all fair in love and war, you know,” said Miss Dunstable.