_The attacker's final thrust_, in which the archdeacon says that Mr. Arabin (who is destined to marry Eleanor in one of the last chapters) agrees with him and his wife "that it is quite impossible you should be received at Plumstead as Mrs. Slope." _The defender's final reaction._ Her look was one Dr. Grantly "did not soon forget," and saying, "How dare you be so impertinent?" she hurriedly leaves the room--with the standard reaction in private: "and then, locking the door, she threw herself on her bed and sobbed as though her heart would break." _The postmortem._ "By some maneuver of her brain, she attributed the origin of the accusation to Mr. Arabin," and she lay awake all night thinking of what had been said. "Nor was the archdeacon a bit better satisfied with the result of the serious interview than was Eleanor." He understood that she was angry, but it never occurred to him that Eleanor viewed the supposed union with Mr. Slope with as much disgust as did he. "He returned to his wife vexed and somewhat disconsolate." _The morning after._ Eleanor sent word that she was not well enough to attend prayers. "Everyone walked about with subdued feet." The sisters (Eleanor and the Archdeacon's wife) were peeved with each other, but after a bit of diplomacy by their father Mr. Harding, they "sat down each to her crochet work as though nothing was amiss in all the world." As noted, the author often serves as a guide to the reader, offering his own critical observations on how each of the participants played their hand. Indeed, most of his novels include at least one of these confrontations that serve primarily to entertain the reader, but also to unveil hitherto unappreciated character traits and to advance the story. Trollope enjoyed using his stories as little Clinics in the Lessons of Life, injecting himself as an observer, critic and instructor in other everyday matters. In _Ralph the Heir_ he explains how the beauty of Mary Bonner afforded her the Priority of Service that is the due primarily of beauty, but also of money, political position, and noble birth. A diligent worker himself, he extolled the virtues of hard work in _Castle Richmond_: "It is my opinion that nothing seasons the mind for endurance like hard work. Port wine should perhaps be added." Victorians wrote letters, and they mailed them by post, and Trollope as a veteran of the postal service used letters and the service of mail delivery to advantage, again often with editorial asides as to how something may have been better phrased. In another little lesson of life in _The Bertrams_, he offered another too-frequently-neglected lesson: "Sit down and write your letter; write it with all the venom in your power . . . and, as a matter of course, burn it before breakfast the next morning." He goes on to extol pleasant letters, concluding his advice for letter writing: "But, above all things, see that it be good-humored."