"It is for your sake and Eleanor's that I do this. I hope, at least, that my children may never have to be ashamed of their father."
"How can you talk about shame, papa?" and she stopped while the waiter creaked in with the paper, and then slowly creaked out again; "how can you talk about shame? you know what all your friends think about this question."
The warden spread his paper on the table, placing it on the meagre blotting-book which the hotel afforded, and sat himself down to write.
"You won't refuse me one request, papa?" continued his daughter; "you won't refuse to delay your letter for two short days? Two days can make no possible difference."
"My dear," said he naïvely, "if I waited till I got to Barchester, I might, perhaps, be prevented."
"But surely you would not wish to offend the bishop?" said she.
"God forbid! The bishop is not apt to take offence, and knows me too well to take in bad part anything that I may be called on to do."
"But, papa—"
"Susan," said he, "my mind on this subject is made up; it is not without much repugnance that I act in opposition to the advice of such men as Sir Abraham Haphazard and the archdeacon; but in this matter I can take no advice, I cannot alter the resolution to which I have come."
"But two days, papa—"