That laugh was more than Mr. Cartaret could bear. He thrust out his
face toward Greatorex.
Rowcliffe, watching them, saw that he trembled and that the
thrust-out, furious face was flushed deeply on the left side.
The Vicar boomed.
"You will leave my house this instant, Mr. Greatorex. And you will
never come into it again."
But Greatorex was already looking for his cap.
"I'll navver coom into et again," he assented placably.
* * * * *
There were no prayers at the Vicarage that night.
* * * * *
It was nearly eleven o'clock. Greatorex was gone. Gwenda was upstairs
helping Alice to undress. Mary sat alone in the dining-room, crying
steadily. The Vicar and Rowcliffe were in the study.
In all this terrible business of Alice, the Vicar felt that his
son-in-law had been a comfort to him.
"Rowcliffe," he said suddenly, "I feel very queer."
"I don't wonder, sir. I should go to bed if I were you."
"I shall. Presently."
The one-sided flush deepened and darkened as he brooded. It fascinated
Rowcliffe.
"I think it would be better," said the Vicar slowly, "if I left the
parish. It's the only solution I can see."
He meant to the problem of his respectability.
Rowcliffe said yes, perhaps it would be better.
He was thinking that it would solve his problem too.
For he knew that there would be a problem if Gwenda came back to her
father.
Pages:
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284