All this paved the way for much additional misery to Mr.Harding.
Eleanor put on her happiest face as she heard her father on the stairs, for she thought she had only to congratulate him; but directly she saw his face she knew that there was but little matter for congratulation.

She had seen him with the same weary look of sorrow on one or two occasions before, and remembered it well.

She had seen him when he first read that attack upon himself in "The Jupiter" which had ultimately caused him to resign the hospital, and she had seen him also when the archdeacon had persuaded him to remain there against his own sense of propriety and honour.

She knew at a glance that his spirit was in deep trouble.
"Oh, Papa, what is it ?" said she, putting down her boy to crawl upon the floor.
"I came to tell you, my dear," said he, "that I am going out to Plumstead: you won't come with me, I suppose ?" "To Plumstead, Papa?
Shall you stay there ?" "I suppose I shall, to-night: I must consult the archdeacon about this weary hospital.

Ah me! I wish I had never thought of it again." "Why, Papa, what is the matter ?" "I've been with Mr.Slope, my dear, and he isn't the pleasantest companion in the world, at least not to me." Eleanor gave a sort of half-blush, but she was wrong if she imagined that her father in any way alluded to her acquaintance with Mr.Slope.
"Well, Papa." "He wants to turn the hospital into a Sunday-school and a preaching-house, and I suppose he will have his way.