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Why have you taken upon yourself to send that man to Hogglestock?" "Because it was right to do so. I came to you for instructions, and you would give none." "I should have given what instructions I pleased in proper time. Thumble shall not go to Hogglestock next Sunday." "Who shall go, then?" "Never mind. Nobody. It does not matter to you. If you will leave me now I shall be obliged to you.
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.
"Shall a man have nothing of his own; no sorrow in his heart, no care in his family, no thought in his breast so private and special to him, but that, if he happen to be a clergyman, the bishop may touch it with his thumb?" "I am not the bishop's thumb," said Mr Thumble, drawing himself up. "I intended not to hint anything personally objectionable to yourself.
I will regard you as one of the angels of the church." Mr Thumble, when he heard this, began to be sure that Mr Crawley was mad; he knew of no angels that could ride about the Barsetshire lanes on grey ponies. "And as such I will respect you; but I cannot discuss with you the matter of the bishop's message." "Oh, very well. I will tell his lordship." "I will pray you to do so."
"I thought it proper to mention that, because of the scandal," said the bishop. "Oh, it has been terrible in the city," said Mr Thumble. "Never mind, Mr Thumble," said Mrs Proudie. "Never mind that at present." Then she continued to read the letter. "What's this? Confession! That must come out, bishop. It will never do that you should recommend confession to anybody, under any circumstances."
Dr Tempest had also heard that Mr Crawley had submitted himself to the bishop, that instant advantage, and, as Dr Tempest thought, unfair advantage, had been taken of Mr Crawley's submission, and that the pernicious Mr Thumble had been at once sent over to Hogglestock.
As far as this morning's work had as yet gone, it seemed to him that Mr Crawley had had the play to himself, and that he, Mr Thumble, had not had his innings. He, from the palace, had been, as it were, cowed by this man, who had been forced to plead his own poverty. It was certainly incumbent upon him, before he went, to speak up, not only for the bishop, but for himself also.
"Did you ever know a woman who liked to be turned out of a room in her own house?" said Mrs Proudie. When Mrs Proudie had condescended so far as this, it must be admitted that in those days there was a great deal of trouble in the palace. Mr Thumble, on the day before he went to Silverbridge, asked for an audience with the bishop in order that he might receive instructions.
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.
I never heard of anything so mismanaged in all my life, never in all my life." And she put her books down on the study table, and turned herself round from Mr Thumble towards the bishop. "If things go on like this, my lord," she said, "your authority in the diocese will very soon be worth nothing at all."
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