Anthony Trollope: Barchester Towers

13. CHAPTER XIII: THE RUBBISH CART (continued)

'Eighteen months,' said his daughter. 'But I don't suppose Eleanor has ever thought about it. It is very probable, though, that he has, and that he will try and make her do so; and that he will succeed too, if we don't take care what we are about.'

This was quite a new phase of the affair to poor Mr Harding. To have thrust upon him as his son-in-law, as the husband of his favourite child, the only man in the world whom he really positively disliked, would be a misfortune which he felt he would not know how to endure patiently. But then, could there be any ground for so dreadful a surmise? In all worldly matters he was apt to look upon the opinion of his eldest daughter, as one generally sound and trustworthy. In her appreciation of character, of motives, and the probable conduct both of men and women, she was usually not far wrong. She had early foreseen the marriage of Eleanor and John Bold; she had at a glance deciphered the character of the new bishop and his chaplain; could it possibly be that her present surmise should ever come forth as true?'

'But you don't think that she likes him,' said Mr Harding again.

'Well, papa, I can't say that I think she dislikes him as she ought to do. Why is he visiting there as a confidential friend, when he never ought to have been admitted inside the house? Why is it that she speaks to him of about your welfare and your position, as she clearly has done? At the bishop's party the other night, I saw her talking to him for half an hour at the stretch.'

'I thought Mr Slope seemed to talk to nobody there but that daughter of Stanhope's,' said Mr Harding, wishing to defend his child.

'Oh, Mr Slope is a cleverer man than you think of, papa, and keeps more than one iron in the fire.'