Emily was prim and conceited, and Clara did not exist.Alice was ready to do everything that Maggie wanted, and it was very apparent at once that she had not liked "Miss Grace.""Ah, that'll be much better than the way Miss Grace 'ad it, Mum.In their jackets, Mum, very well.Certainly.That would be better.""I think you'd better just give us what seems easiest for dinner, Cook," said Maggie, thereby handing herself over, delivered and bound.
"Very well, Mum--I'm sure I'll do my best," said Alice.
Early on that first afternoon she was taken to see the Church.For a desperate moment her spirits failed her as she stood at the end of the Lane and looked.This was a Church of the newest red brick, and every seat was of the most shining wood.The East End window was flaming purple, with a crimson Christ ascending and yellow and blue disciples amazed together on the ground.Paul stood flushed with pride and pleasure, his hand through Maggie's arm.
"That's a Partright window," he said with that inflection that Maggie was already beginning to think of as "his public voice.""I'm afraid, Paul dear," said Maggie, "I'm very ignorant.""Don't know Partright? Oh, he's the great man of the last thirty years--did the great East window of St.Martin's, Pontefract.We had a job to get him I can tell you.Just look at that purple.""On the right you'll see the Memorial Tablet to our brave lads who fell in the South African War--Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori--very appropriate.Brave fellows, brave fellows! Just behind you, Maggie, is the Mickleham Font, one of the finest specimens of modern stone-work in the county--given to us by Sir Joseph Mickleham--Mickleham Hall, you know, only two miles from here.He used to attend morning service here frequently.Died five years ago.Fine piece of work!"Maggie looked at it.It was enormous, a huge battlement of a font in dead white stone with wreaths of carved ivy creeping about it.
"It makes one feel rather shivery," said Maggie.
"Now you must see our lectern," said Paul eagerly.