“Shall I meet you at the duke’s next week, Mr. Robarts,” said the bishop to him, soon after they had gone into the drawing-room.
Meet him at the duke’s!—the established enemy of Barsetshire mankind, as Lady Lufton regarded his grace! No idea of going to the duke’s had ever entered our hero’s mind; nor had he been aware that the duke was about to entertain any one.
“No, my lord; I think not. Indeed, I have no acquaintance with his grace.”
“Oh—ah! I did not know. Because Mr. Sowerby is going; and so are the Harold Smiths, and, I think, Mr. Supplehouse. An excellent man is the duke;—that is, as regards all the county interests,” added the bishop, remembering that the moral character of his bachelor grace was not the very best in the world.
And then his lordship began to ask some questions about the church affairs of Framley, in which a little interest as to Framley Court was also mixed up, when he was interrupted by a rather sharp voice, to which he instantly attended.
“Bishop,” said the rather sharp voice; and the bishop trotted across the room to the back of the sofa, on which his wife was sitting.
“Miss Dunstable thinks that she will be able to come to us for a couple of days, after we leave the duke’s.”
“I shall be delighted above all things,” said the bishop, bowing low to the dominant lady of the day. For be it known to all men, that Miss Dunstable was the great heiress of that name.
“Mrs. Proudie is so very kind as to say that she will take me in, with my poodle, parrot, and pet old woman.”
“I tell Miss Dunstable, that we shall have quite room for any of her suite,” said Mrs. Proudie. “And that it will give us no trouble.”