The ravens and the last lingering notes of the clock bells were less scrupulous and repeated in correspondent echoes the very improper exclamation.
The archdeacon again raised his hat, and another salutary escape of steam was effected.
There was a pause, during which the precentor tried to realize the fact that the wife of a Bishop of Barchester had been thus designated, in the close of the cathedral, by the lips of its own archdeacon; but he could not do it.
"The bishop seems to be a quiet man enough," suggested Mr.Harding, having acknowledged to himself his own failure.
"Idiot!" exclaimed the doctor, who for the nonce was not capable of more than such spasmodic attempts at utterance.
"Well, he did not seem very bright," said Mr.Harding, "and yet he has always had the reputation of a clever man.

I suppose he's cautious and not inclined to express himself very freely." The new Bishop of Barchester was already so contemptible a creature in Dr.Grantly's eyes that he could not condescend to discuss his character.

He was a puppet to be played by others; a mere wax doll, done up in an apron and a shovel hat, to be stuck on a throne or elsewhere, and pulled about by wires as others chose.

Dr.Grantly did not choose to let himself down low enough to talk about Dr.Proudie, but he saw that he would have to talk about the other members of his household, the coadjutor bishops, who had brought his lordship down, as it were, in a box, and were about to handle the wires as they willed.

This in itself was a terrible vexation to the archdeacon.
Could he have ignored the chaplain and have fought the bishop, there would have been, at any rate, nothing degrading in such a contest.
Let the Queen make whom she would Bishop of Barchester; a man, or even an ape, when once a bishop, would be a respectable adversary, if he would but fight, himself.