Then he turned to Grace as the very rock of his safety.
"Oh, Grace, you mustn't go--you mustn't think of going.Whatever should I do without you?"A dull flush of gratification coloured her cheeks.
"Either she goes or I," she repeated."It can't go on.You must see that it can't.Fancy what people must be thinking!"As always, he postponed the issue."We'll settle something.Don't you worry, dear.You go and lie down.That's what you want--a thorough good rest."She plodded off.For himself he decided that fresh air was what he needed.He went for a stroll.As soon as he was in the Charleston Road that led to the High Street he was pleased with the day.Early spring; mild, faint haze, trees dimly purple, a bird clucking, the whisper of the sea stirring the warm puddles and rivulets across the damp dim road.Warm, yes, warm and promising.Lent...tiresome.
Long services, gloomy sermons.Rebuking people, scolding them--made them angry, did them no good.Then Easter.That was better.Jolly hymns."Christ is risen! Christ is risen!" Jolly flowers--primroses, crocuses--(no, they were earlier).They'll have forgotten about Maggie's uncle by then.Live it down--that's the thing.Give them a good genial sermon this Sunday.Show them he wasn't caring...If only the women would get on together.Women--women.How difficult they were! Yes, Sunday would be difficult--facing them all.He knew what they'd be thinking.He wanted to be jolly again.Jolly.That was the thing.Joking with Grace, jolly even with Maggie.Jolly with his congregation.Jolly with God.Why wasn't he left alone? Had been until Maggie came.Maggie like a stone flung into a frosty pool!