"No, indeed, Mrs. Proudie. Nor would it have been possible, unless I had had the police to assist me."
"Then you should have had the police. I never heard of anything so mismanaged in all my life,—never in all my life." And she put her books down on the study table, and turned herself round from Mr. Thumble towards the bishop. "If things go on like this, my lord," she said, "your authority in the diocese will very soon be worth nothing at all." It was not often that Mrs. Proudie called her husband my lord, but when she did do so, it was a sign that terrible times had come;—times so terrible that the bishop would know that he must either fight or fly. He would almost endure anything rather than descend into the arena for the purpose of doing battle with his wife, but occasions would come now and again when even the alternative of flight was hardly left to him.
"But, my dear,—" began the bishop.
"Am I to understand that this man has professed himself to be altogether indifferent to the bishop's prohibition?" said Mrs. Proudie, interrupting her husband and addressing Mr. Thumble.
"Quite so. He seemed to think that the bishop had no lawful power in the matter at all," said Mr. Thumble.
"Do you hear that, my lord?" said Mrs. Proudie.
"Nor have I any," said the bishop, almost weeping as he spoke.
"No authority in your own diocese!"
"None to silence a man merely by my own judgment. I thought, and still think, that it was for this gentleman's own interest, as well as for the credit of the Church, that some provision should be made for his duties during his present,—present—difficulties."
"Difficulties indeed! Everybody knows that the man has been a thief."