The prestige of victory is everything.
"Ahem--my dear," began the bishop, "if you are disengaged, I wished to speak to you." Mrs.Proudie put her pencil down carefully at the point to which she had totted her figures, marked down in her memory the sum she had arrived at, and then looked up, sourly enough, into her helpmate's face.

"If you are busy, another time will do as well," continued the bishop, whose courage, like Bob Acres', had oozed out now that he found himself on the ground of battle.
"What is it about, Bishop ?" asked the lady.
"Well--it was about those Quiverfuls--but I see you are engaged.
Another time will do just as well for me." "What about the Quiverfuls?
It is quite understood, I believe, that they are to come to the hospital.

There is to be no doubt about that, is there ?" and as she spoke she kept her pencil sternly and vigorously fixed on the column of figures before her.
"Why, my dear, there is a difficulty," said the bishop.
"A difficulty!" said Mrs.Proudie, "what difficulty?
The place has been promised to Mr.Quiverful, and of course he must have it.

He has made all his arrangements.

He has written for a curate for Puddingdale, he has spoken to the auctioneer about selling his farm, horses, and cows, and in all respects considers the place as his own.