And again: "Oh, for that! If we could have what we wanted
in this world! . . ."
Uttered in his light, half-bantering tones, the bitter flavour of the
words had passed her by, but now, as she studied the rather stern set
of his features, they returned to her with fresh meaning and she felt
that their mocking philosophy was to a certain extent indicative of the
man's attitude towards life.
So absorbed was she in her thoughts that the stir and rustle of the
congregation issuing from their seats at the conclusion of the service
came upon her in the light of a surprise; she had not realised that the
service--in which she had been taking a reprehensible perfunctory
part--had drawn to its close, and she almost jumped when Joan nudged
her unobtrusively and whispered:--
"Come along. I believe you're half asleep."
She shook her head, smiling, and gathering up her gloves and
prayer-book, she followed Joan down the aisle and out into the
churchyard where people were standing about in little groups,
exchanging the time of day with that air of a renewal of interest in
worldly topics which synchronises with the end of Lent.
The Rector had not yet appeared, and as Joan was chatting with Mrs.
Mowbray, the local doctor's wife, Diana, who had an intense dislike for
Mrs. Mowbray and all her works--there were six of the latter, ranging
from a lanky girl of twelve to a fat baby still in the perambulator
stage--made her way out of the churchyard and stood waiting by the
beautiful old lichgate, which, equally with the thirteenth century
window, was a source of pride and satisfaction to the good folk of
Crailing.
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