the grand stairs, especially for her use.

And now the day of the party had arrived. The bishop and his wife
came down from town only on the morning of the eventful day, as
behoved such great people to do, but Mr. Slope had toiled day and
night to see that everything should be in right order. There had
been much to do. No company had been seen in the palace since heaven
knows when. New furniture had been required, new pots and pans, new
cups and saucers, new dishes and plates. Mrs. Proudie had at first
declared that she would condescend to nothing so vulgar as eating
and drinking, but Mr. Slope had talked, or rather written her out
of economy. Bishops should be given to hospitality, and hospitality
meant eating and drinking. So the supper was conceded; the guests,
however, were to stand as they consumed it.

There were four rooms opening into each other on the first floor
of the house, which were denominated the drawing-rooms, the
reception-room, and Mrs. Proudie's boudoir. In olden days one of
these had been Bishop Grantly's bedroom, and another his common
sitting-room and study. The present bishop, however, had been moved
down into a back parlour and had been given to understand that he
could very well receive his clergy in the dining-room, should they
arrive in too large a flock to be admitted into his small sanctum. He
had been unwilling to yield, but after a short debate had yielded.

Mrs. Proudie's heart beat high as she inspected her suite of rooms.
They were really very magnificent, or at least would be so by
candlelight, and they had nevertheless been got up with commendable
economy. Large rooms when full of people and full of light look
well, because they are large, and are full, and are light. Small