Mrs Grantly waited till the last fall of her husband's foot
was heard, as he turned out of the court into St Paul's Churchyard,
and then commenced her task of talking her father over.
'Papa,' she began, 'this is a most serious business.'
'Indeed it is,' said the warden, ringing the bell.
'I greatly feel the distress of mind you must have endured.'
'I am sure you do, my dear'; and he ordered the waiter to
bring him pen, ink, and paper.
'Are you going to write, papa?'
'Yes, my dear--I am going to write my resignation to the bishop.'
'Pray, pray, papa, put it off till our return--pray put it off
till you have seen the bishop--dear papa! for my sake, for
Eleanor's!--'
'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.'
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