He had not really heard
anything, but he had seen something; two forms scrambling hand in hand
up Karva; not too distant to be recognisable as young Rowcliffe and
his daughter Gwenda, yet too distant to be pleasing to the Vicar. It
was their distance that made them so improper.
"I don't know, Papa," said Gwenda.
"Perhaps you know what was said about your sister Alice? Do you want
the same thing to be said about you?"
"It won't be, Papa. Unless you say it yourself."
She had him there; for what was said about Alice had been said first
of all by him.
"What do you mean, Gwenda?"
"I mean that I'm a little different from Alice."
"Are you? _Are_ you? When you're doing the same thing?"
"Let me see. What _was_ the dreadful thing that Ally did? She ran
after young Rickards, didn't she? Well--if you'd really seen us
scampering you'd know that I'm generally running away from young
Rowcliffe and that young Rowcliffe is generally running after me. He
says it's as much as he can do to keep up with me."
"Gwenda," said the Vicar solemnly. "I won't have it."
"How do you propose to stop it, Papa?"
"You'll see how."
(It was thus that his god lured the Vicar to destruction. For he had
no plan. He knew that he couldn't move into another parish.)
"It's no good locking me up in my room," said Gwenda, "for I can get
out at the window. And you can't very well lock young Rowcliffe up in
his surgery.
Pages:
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168