In his indecision, his weakness, his proneness to be led by others, his want of self-confidence, he was very far from being perfect.

And then it must be remembered that such a marriage as that which the archdeacon contemplated with disgust, which we who know Mr.Slope so well would regard with equal disgust, did not appear so monstrous to Mr.Harding because in his charity he did not hate the chaplain as the archdeacon did, and as we do.
He was, however, very unhappy when his daughter left the room, and he had recourse to an old trick of his that was customary to him in his times of sadness.

He began playing some slow tune upon an imaginary violoncello, drawing one hand slowly backwards and forwards as though he held a bow in it, and modulating the unreal chords with the other.
"She'll marry that man as sure as two and two make four," said the practical archdeacon.
"I hope not, I hope not," said the father.

"But if she does, what can I say to her?
I have no right to object to him." "No right!" exclaimed Dr.Grantly.
"No right as her father.

He is in my own profession and, for aught we know, a good man." To this the archdeacon would by no means assent.