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Mrs Proudie had frowned at him, not with all the austerity of frowning which she could use when really angered, but simply with a frown which gave her some little time for thought, and would enable her to continue to rebuke if, after thinking, she should find that rebuke was needed. But mature consideration showed her that Mr Thumble's caution was not without reason.
The scene which occurred in Hogglestock church on the Sunday after Mr Thumble's first visit to that parish had not been described with absolute accuracy either by the archdeacon in his letter to his son, or by Mrs Thorne. There had been no footman from the palace in attendance on Mr Thumble, nor had there been a battle with the brickmakers; neither had Mr Thumble been put under the pump.
People in Barchester said that Mrs Thumble was a cousin of Mrs Proudie's; but as Mrs Proudie stoutly denied the connexion, it may be supposed that the people of Barchester were wrong. And, had Mr Thumble's wife in truth been a cousin, Mrs Proudie would surely have provided for him during the many years in which the diocese had been in her hands.
Though he was praying, even in prayer he could not forget the man who was occupying the desk. Then came the sermon, preached very often before, lasting exactly half-an-hour, and then Mr Thumble's work was done. Itinerant clergymen, who preach now here and now there, as it had been the lot of Mr Thumble to do, have at any rate this belief, that they can preach their sermons often.
Mrs Proudie had died on the Tuesday, that having been the day of Mr Thumble's visit to Hogglestock, and Mr Robarts had gone over to Silverbridge, in answer to Dr Tempest's invitation, on the Thursday. He had not, therefore, the command of much time, it being his express object to prevent the appearance of Mr Thumble at Hogglestock on the next Sunday.
Late in the afternoon, he entered the palace yard having led the cob by the bridle the whole way home from Hogglestock. Some hour or two before Mr Thumble's return Mrs Proudie returned to her husband, thinking it better to let him know what she had done. She resolved to be very firm with him, but at the same time she determined not to use harsh language if it could be avoided.
Though he knew Mr Thumble's person, he was not acquainted with him, and therefore he simply bowed to the visitor, bowing more than once or twice with a cold courtesy, which did not put Mr Thumble altogether at his ease. "My name is Mr Thumble," said the visitor, "the Reverend Caleb Thumble," and he held the bishop's letter in his hand.
The church was very near to the house, and any vehicle arriving might have been seen had Mr Crawley watched closely. But no one had cared to watch Mr Thumble's arrival at the church. He did not doubt that Mr Thumble would be at the church. With reference to the school, he had had some doubt. But just as he was about to start he heard the clatter of a gig.
The bishop, perhaps, thought that the story of the failure had better reach his wife's ears from Mr Thumble's lips than from his own. "Well, Mr Thumble?" said Mrs Proudie, walking into the study, armed in her full Sunday-evening winter panoply, in which she had just descended from her carriage.
He could not in such case have prevented Mr Thumble's journey to Hogglestock on the next Sunday, and certainly he could not have softened the heart of the presiding genius at the palace. But things were very different now. The presiding genius was gone. Everybody at the palace would for a while be weak and vacillating.
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