That was why
he was so serene.
And he wasn't lying. His state of mind was obviously much too simple.
He was serenely certain of his facts.
* * * * *
By courteous movement of his hand the Vicar condoned Rowcliffe's
rudeness, which he attributed to professional pique very natural in
the circumstances.
With admirable tact he changed the subject.
"I also wished to consult you about another matter. Nothing" (he again
reassured the doctor's nervousness) "to do with my family."
Rowcliffe was all attention.
"It's about--it's about that poor girl, Essy Gale."
"Essy," said Rowcliffe, "is very well and very happy."
The Vicar's sudden rigidity implied that Essy had no business to be
happy.
"If she is, it isn't your friend Greatorex's fault."
"I'm not so sure of that," said Rowcliffe.
"I suppose you know he has refused to marry her?"
"I understood as much. But who asked him to?"
"I did."
"My dear sir, if you don't mind my saying so, I think you made a
mistake--if you _want_ him to marry her. You know what he is."
"I do indeed. But a certain responsibility rests with the parson of
the parish."
"You can't be responsible for everything that goes on."
"Perhaps not--when the place is packed with nonconformists. Greatorex
comes of bad dissenting stock. I can't hope to have any influence with
him."
He paused.
"But I'm told that _you_ have."
"Influence? Not I.
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