Mr.Slope, however, had a harder task than he had imagined.

Mrs.Proudie, anxious to assume to herself as much as possible of the merit of patronage, had written to Mrs.Quiverful, requesting her to call at the palace, and had then explained to that matron, with much mystery, condescension, and dignity, the good that was in store for her and her progeny.

Indeed, Mrs.Proudie had been so engaged at the very time that Mr.Slope had been doing the same with the husband at Puddingdale Vicarage, and had thus in a measure committed herself.

The thanks, the humility, the gratitude, the surprise of Mrs.Quiverful had been very overpowering; she had all but embraced the knees of her patroness, and had promised that the prayers of fourteen unprovided babes (so Mrs.Quiverful had described her own family, the eldest of which was a stout young woman of three-and-twenty) should be put up to heaven morning and evening for the munificent friend whom God had sent to them.

Such incense as this was not unpleasing to Mrs.Proudie, and she made the most of it.