Mr Thorne assured her that he could, and would see the young lady with the greatest pleasure in life. 'Mr Slope, might I trouble you to ring the bell?' said she; and when Mr Slope got up she looked at Mr Thorne and pointed to the chair. Mr Thorne, however, was much too slow to understand her, and Mr Slope would have recovered his seat had not the signora, who never chose to be unsuccessful, somewhat summarily ordered him out of it.
'Oh, Mr Slope, I must ask you to let Mr Thorne sit here just for a moment or two. I am sure you will pardon me. We can take a liberty with you this week. Next week, you know, when you move into the dean's house, we shall all be afraid of you.'
Mr Slope, with an air of much indifference, rose from his seat, and, walking into the next room, became greatly interested in Mrs Stanhope's worsted work.
And then the child was brought in. She was a little girl, about eight years of age, like her mother, only that her enormous eyes were black, and her hair quite jet. Her complexion too was very dark, and bespoke her foreign blood. She was dressed in the most outlandish and extravagant way in which clothes could be put on a child's back. She had great bracelets on her naked little arms, a crimson fillet braided with gold round her head, and scarlet shoes with high heels. Her dress was all flounces, and stuck out from her as though the object were to make it lie off horizontally from her little hips. It did not nearly cover her knees; but this was atoned for by a loose pair of drawers which seemed made throughout of lace; then she had on pink silk stockings. It was thus that the last of the Neros was habitually dressed at the hour when visitors were wont to call.
'Julia, my love,' said the mother,--Julia was ever a favourite name with the ladies of the family, 'Julia, my love, come here. I was telling you about the beautiful party poor mamma went to. This is Mr Thorne; will you give him a kiss, dearest?'
Julia put up her face to be kissed, as she did to all her mother's visitors; and then Mr Thorne found that he had got her, and, which was much more terrible to him, all her finery, into his arms. The lace and starch crumpled against his waistcoat and trousers, the greasy black curls hung upon his cheek, and one of the bracelet clasps scratched his ear. He did not at all know how to hold her.
However, he had on other occasions been compelled to fondle little nieces and nephews, and now set about the task in the mode he always used.
'Diddle, diddle, diddle, diddle,' said he, putting the child on one knee, and working away with it as though he were turning a knife-grinder's wheel with his foot.
'Mamma, mamma,' said Julia, crossly. 'I don't want to be diddle diddled. Let me go, you naughty old man, you.'
Poor Mr Thorne put the child down quietly on the ground, and drew back his chair; Mr Slope, who had returned to the pole star that attracted him, laughed aloud; Mr Arabin winced and shut his eyes;and the signora pretended not to hear her daughter.
'Go to Aunt Charlotte, lovey,' said the mamma, 'and ask her it if is not time for you to go out.'
But little Julia, though she had not exactly liked the nature of Mr Thorne's attention, was accustomed to be played with by gentlemen, and did not relish the idea of being sent so soon to her aunt.
'Julia, go when I tell you, my dear.' But Julia still went pouting about the room. 'Charlotte, do come and take her,' said the signora. 'She must go out; and the days get so short now.' And thus ended the much-talked of interview between Mr Thorne and the last of the Neros.
Mr Thorne recovered from the child's crossness sooner than from Mr Slope's laughter. He could put up with being called an old man by an infant, but he did not like to be laughed at by the bishop's chaplain, even though that chaplain was about to become a dean. He said nothing, but he showed plainly enough that he was angry.
The signora was ready enough to avenge him. 'Mr Slope,' said she, 'I hear that you are triumphing on all sides.'
'How so,' said he smiling. He did not dislike being talked to about the deanery, though, of course, he strongly denied the imputation.
'You carry the day both in love and war.' Mr Slope hereupon did not look quite so satisfied as he had done.
'Mr Arabin,' continued the signora, 'don't you think Mr Slope is a very lucky man?'
'Not more than he deserves, I am sure,' said Mr Arabin.
'Only think, Mr Thorne, he is to be our new dean; of course we all know that.'
'Indeed, signora,' said Mr Slope, 'we all know nothing about it. Ican assure you I myself--'
'He is to be the new dean--there is no manner of doubt of it, Mr Thorne.'
'Hum,' said Mr Thorne.
'Passing over the heads of old men like my father and Archdeacon Grantly--'
'Oh--oh!' said Mr Slope.
'The archdeacon would not accept it,' said Mr Arabin; whereupon Mr Slope smiled abominably, and said, as plainly as a look could speak, that the grapes were sour.
'Going over all our heads,' continued the signora; 'for, of course, I consider myself one of the chapter.'
'If I am ever dean,' said Mr Slope--'that is, were I ever to become so, I should glory in such a canoness.'
'Oh, Mr Slope, stop; I haven't half done. There is another canoness for you to glory in. Mr Slope is not only to have the deanery, but a wife to put in it.'
Mr Slope again looked disconcerted.
