"I'd live anywhere with her," he said, jerking his head towards his wife with a boyish gesture. "But if I had to choose between the two, for myself, I'd choose a town, because there's more to do. We both of us like to have plenty to do."
After dinner, before the men came up, Caroline sat with Viola Prescott in the window-seat from which they could see the dark mass of the Cathedral rising above the trees into the velvet purple night, and she asked the same question, in a tone that gave Caroline a tightening of the throat.
"He's enjoying every moment of this," she said, "and he wanted just such a change. We haven't been away together since just after Christmas. Do you think he looks very tired? It has been so hot in London."
"I think he looks as if he wants a change," said Caroline. "Fresh air, perhaps, and not quite so much to do."
She sighed. "I was afraid you would say that," she said. "The Bishop said it too. He's a lovely sort of Bishop, isn't he? So human, and so kind, and not too churchy. It would be rather peaceful to be in his Diocese."
"Would you like to live in the country?" Caroline asked her.
"I should love it. I always did live in the country before we were married. I used to go and stay with an aunt in London sometimes, and was always glad to get back. I don't care about London amusements. But we don't have to bother ourselves with them in our part of London. I do like that, better than I thought I should, because you see people in a more natural way than at the other end of London. Gerry feels like that too. I can hardly ever drag him up to see our relations, and they hardly ever come to see us."
"I feel just the same, about our part of London," said Caroline. "I've persuaded father to give up our house there, because I like living in the country much better. It's partly because of the people, as you say. You get to know all sorts better, in the country. I have a lot of friends among the people in our village, just as you have in your parish, though they live rather quieter lives than yours seem to, and are not so—well, so disreputable."
Both of them laughed, with a glance at the Bishop's wife. "They're not really disreputable," Viola said; "only most of them don't know whether they are going to have anything to eat to-morrow, or the next day. So they have to keep cheerful while they have got enough. Still, it is rather a rackety life. I think I should like to be among quieter people, for a change; and of course one does miss the sweet air and the peace of the country. I wouldn't mind a bit for myself if I didn't think Gerry ought to have a rest. He isn't very strong, poor darling, and he works too hard."