others. "What," said he to himself, "can a man's religion be worth if
it does not support him against the natural melancholy of declining
years?" And as he looked out through his dimmed eyes into the bright
parterres of the bishop's garden, he felt that he had the support
which he wanted.

Nevertheless, he did not like to be thus kept waiting. If Mr. Slope
did not really wish to see him at half-past nine o'clock, why force
him to come away from his lodgings with his breakfast in his throat?
To tell the truth, it was policy on the part of Mr. Slope. Mr. Slope
had made up his mind that Mr. Harding should either accept the
hospital with abject submission, or else refuse it altogether, and
had calculated that he would probably be more quick to do the latter,
if he could be got to enter upon the subject in an ill-humour.
Perhaps Mr. Slope was not altogether wrong in his calculation.

It was nearly ten when Mr. Slope hurried into the room and, muttering
something about the bishop and diocesan duties, shook Mr. Harding's
hand ruthlessly and begged him to be seated.

Now the air of superiority which this man assumed did go against the
grain with Mr. Harding, and yet he did not know how to resent it.
The whole tendency of his mind and disposition was opposed to any
contra-assumption of grandeur on his own part, and he hadn't the
worldly spirit or quickness necessary to put down insolent pretensions
by downright and open rebuke, as the archdeacon would have done. There
was nothing for Mr. Harding but to submit, and he accordingly did so.

"About the hospital, Mr. Harding?" began Mr. Slope, speaking of it
as the head of a college at Cambridge might speak of some sizarship