The bishop shook his head.  It is hard to be impressively eloquent when one is interrupted at every best turning period, even by a supporting voice.  ’Yes;—­and looking of course to the religious interests of your people, Mr Crawley, I came to the conclusion that it would be expedient that you should cease your ministrations for a while.’  The bishop paused, and Mr Crawley bowed his head.  ’I, therefore, sent over to you a gentleman with whom I am well acquainted, Mr Thumble, with a letter from myself, in which I endeavoured to impress upon you, without the use of any severe language, what my convictions were.’

‘Severe words are often the best mercy,’ said Mrs Proudie.  Mr Crawley had raised his hand, with his finger out, preparatory to answering the bishop.  But as Mrs Proudie had spoken he dropped his finger and was silent.

‘Mr Thumble brought me back your written reply,’ continued the bishop, ’by which I was grieved to find that you were not willing to submit yourself to my counsel in the matter.’

’I was most unwilling, my lord.  Submission to authority is at times a duty;—­and at times opposition to authority is a duty also.’

‘Opposition to just authority cannot be a duty, Mr Crawley.’

‘Opposition to usurped authority is an imperative duty,’ said Mr Crawley.

‘And who is to be the judge?’ demanded Mrs Proudie.  Then there was silence for a while; when, as Mr Crawley made no reply, the lady repeated her question.  ’Will you be pleased to answer my question, sir?  Who, in such case, is to be the judge?’ But Mr Crawley did not please to answer the question.  ‘The man is obstinate,’ said Mrs Proudie.

‘I had better proceed,’ said the bishop.  ’Mr Thumble brought me back your reply, which grieved me greatly.’

‘It was contumacious and indecent,’ said Mrs Proudie.

The bishop again shook his head and looked so utterly miserable that a smile came across Mr Crawley’s face.  After all, others beside himself had their troubles and trials.  Mrs Proudie saw and understood the smile, and became more angry than ever.  She drew her chair close to the table, and began to fidget with her fingers among the papers.  She had never before encountered a clergyman so contumacious, so indecent, so unreverend—­so upsetting.  She had had to deal with men difficult to manage—­the archdeacon for instance; but the archdeacon had never been so impertinent to her as this man.  She had quarrelled once openly with a chaplain of her husband’s, a clergyman whom she herself had introduced to her husband, and who had treated her very badly;—­but not so badly, not with such unscrupulous violence, as she was now encountering from this ill-clothed beggarly man, this perpetual curate, with his dirty broken boots, this already half-convicted thief!  Such was her idea of Mr Crawley’s conduct to her, while she was fingering the papers—­simply because Mr Crawley would not speak to her.