He answered it, however, as follows: DEAR SIR, I will call at the palace to-morrow at 9:30 A.M.as you desire.
Truly yours, S.HARDING High Street, Barchester, Monday And on the following morning, punctually at half-past nine, he knocked at the palace door and asked for Mr.Slope.
The bishop had one small room allotted to him on the ground-floor, and Mr.Slope had another.

Into this latter Mr.Harding was shown and asked to sit down.

Mr.Slope was not yet there.

The ex-warden stood up at the window looking into the garden, and could not help thinking how very short a time had passed since the whole of that house had been open to him, as though he had been a child of the family, born and bred in it.

He remembered how the old servants used to smile as they opened the door to him; how the familiar butler would say, when he had been absent a few hours longer than usual, "A sight of you, Mr.Harding, is good for sore eyes;" how the fussy housekeeper would swear that he couldn't have dined, or couldn't have breakfasted, or couldn't have lunched.