of all, perhaps, the most
complete. He laid aside his usual melancholy manner and brought forth
little quiet jokes from the inmost mirth of his heart; he poked his
fun at the archdeacon about Mr. Slope's marriage and quizzed him for
his improper love for Mrs. Proudie. On the following day they all
returned to Barchester.

It was arranged that Mr. Arabin should know nothing of what had been
done till he received the minister's letter from the hands of his
embryo father-in-law. In order that no time might be lost, a message
had been sent to him by the preceding night's post, begging him to be
at the deanery at the hour that the train from London arrived. There
was nothing in this which surprised Mr. Arabin. It had somehow got
about through all Barchester that Mr. Harding was the new dean, and
all Barchester was prepared to welcome him with pealing bells and full
hearts. Mr. Slope had certainly had a party; there had certainly been
those in Barchester who were prepared to congratulate him on his
promotion with assumed sincerity, but even his own party was not
broken-hearted by his failure. The inhabitants of the city, even
the high-souled, ecstatic young ladies of thirty-five, had begun to
comprehend that their welfare, and the welfare of the place, was
connected in some mysterious manner with daily chants and bi-weekly
anthems. The expenditure of the palace had not added much to the
popularity of the bishop's side of the question; and, on the whole,
there was a strong reaction. When it became known to all the world that
Mr. Harding was to be the new dean, all the world rejoiced heartily.

Mr. Arabin, we have said, was not surprised at the summons which
called him to the deanery. He had not as yet seen Mr. Harding since
Eleanor had accepted him, nor had he seen him since he had learnt his
future father-in-law's preferment. There was nothing more natural,
more necessary, than that they should meet each other at the earliest
possible moment. Mr. Arabin was waiting in the deanery parlour when
Mr. Harding and Dr. Grantly were driven up from the station.

There was some excitement in the bosoms of them all, as they met and
shook hands; by far too much to enable either of them to begin his
story and tell it in a proper equable style of narrative. Mr. Harding
was some minutes quite dumbfounded, and Mr. Arabin could only talk in
short, spasmodic sentences about his love and good fortune. He slipped
in, as best he could, some so