"I will not go away, my lord," said Mrs. Proudie.
"But I will," said Dr. Tempest, feeling true compassion for the unfortunate man whom he saw writhing in agony before him. "It will manifestly be for the best that I should retire. My lord, I wish you good morning. Mrs. Proudie, good morning." And so he left the room.
"A most stubborn and a most ungentlemanlike man," said Mrs. Proudie, as soon as the door was closed behind the retreating rural dean. "I do not think that in the whole course of my life I ever met with any one so insubordinate and so ill-mannered. He is worse than the archdeacon." As she uttered these words she paced about the room. The bishop said nothing; and when she herself had been silent for a few minutes she turned upon him. "Bishop," she said, "I hope that you agree with me. I expect that you will agree with me in a matter that is of so much moment to my comfort, and I may say to my position generally in the diocese. Bishop, why do you not speak?"
"You have behaved in such a way that I do not know that I shall ever speak again," said the bishop.
"What is this that you say?"
"I say that I do not know how I shall ever speak again. You have disgraced me."
"Disgraced you! I disgrace you! It is you that disgrace yourself by saying such words."
"Very well. Let it be so. Perhaps you will go away now and leave me to myself. I have got a bad headache, and I can't talk any more. Oh dear, oh dear, what will he think of it!"
"And you mean to tell me that I have been wrong!"
"Yes, you have been wrong,—very wrong. Why didn't you go away when I asked you? You are always being wrong. I wish I had never come to Barchester. In any other position I should not have felt it so much. As it is I do not know how I can ever show my face again."