It made Mr Harding feel that many others,--indeed, all others of his own order,--would think him right; but it failed to prove to him that he truly was so.
"Bishop," said he, at last, after both had sat silent for a while, "I should deceive you and myself too, if I did not tell you that I am very unhappy about this.

Suppose that I cannot bring myself to agree with Dr Grantly!--that I find, after inquiry, that the young man is right, and that I am wrong,--what then ?" The two old men were sitting near each other,--so near that the bishop was able to lay his hand upon the other's knee, and he did so with a gentle pressure.

Mr Harding well knew what that pressure meant.

The bishop had no further argument to adduce; he could not fight for the cause as his son would do; he could not prove all the precentor's doubts to be groundless; but he could sympathise with his friend, and he did so; and Mr Harding felt that he had received that for which he came.

There was another period of silence, after which the bishop asked, with a degree of irritable energy, very unusual with him, whether this "pestilent intruder" (meaning John Bold) had any friends in Barchester.
Mr Harding had fully made up his mind to tell the bishop everything; to speak of his daughter's love, as well as his own troubles; to talk of John Bold in his double capacity of future son-in-law and present enemy; and though he felt it to be sufficiently disagreeable, now was his time to do it.
"He is very intimate at my own house, bishop." The bishop stared.