On week-days she seldom heard any, having an idea that week-day services were an invention of the High Church enemy, and that they should therefore be vehemently discouraged.

Services on saints' days she regarded as rank papacy, and had been known to accuse a clergyman's wife, to her face, of idolatry, because the poor lady had dated a letter, St.John's Eve.

Mr.Thumble, on this Sunday evening, was successful in finding the bishop at home, and alone, but he was not lucky enough to get away before Mrs.Proudie returned.

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.

The church which Mrs.Proudie attended in the evening was nearly half a mile from the palace, and the coachman and groom never got a holiday on Sunday night.