"That's true. But no doubt many a poor fellow lost his life in those days, who in these days might be rescued. Why, only think, the Royal National Lifeboat Institution has in charge over three hundred lifeboats on our coasts. It's a splendid work,—grand! And they are grand men who carry it on. Not many of us realise what some of those noble fellows have to go through, tossing about for hours on a bitter winter night, drenched with rain and spray, half-drowned and half-frozen, yet never giving in, so long as they have a hope of saving a life. It's magnificent!"
Mr. Willoughby assented warmly, and he would have assented a great deal more warmly if he had not feared, by a show of too much sympathy, to betray the generous part which he had himself taken in procuring this very lifeboat.
He did not suppose the Vicar's suspicions to have been already aroused, and he had no wish to arouse them. After listening a little longer, he made an attempt to turn the talk into another channel.
"The shipwreck of last year seems to have done good to Old Maxham in more ways than one."
"By bringing about the presence of a lifeboat? Yes, indeed."
"Not that only. I said, 'in more ways than one.' I was thinking that it had also brought about the presence of Miss Pattison in the place. That must be a gain."
"You are quite right. It is a gain. I have the greatest esteem for Miss Pattison. I believe she does good wherever she goes."
"I have not, of course, seen very much of her yet," remarked Mr. Willoughby, drawing the point of his walking-stick through the dust. "But the little that I have seen,—I confess she seems to me to be a woman among a thousand. We are perhaps better off than King Solomon was. He didn't manage to find one woman among a thousand. I am inclined to think that I—have!"
The Vicar stopped short, and looked full at Mr. Willoughby.
"I am inclined to think that I have," repeated Mr. Willoughby, with deliberation. "I may be mistaken; but I think not."