"He seems like a real nice sort, Alf. What do you think?"
"I've always admired Barry," he said proudly, a bit complaisantly. "During several years of business connection...."
"Yes, Alf he's certainly looked after our interests out West."
Sly little wrinkles of worry just etched themselves across the Rev. Needham's florid brow. Those interests in the West—heaven knew how much they meant! They kept the wolf from the door—a mild wolf, of course, and one that wouldn't really bite; but still a wolf. Yes, they sustained the Needham establishment in a kind of grand way—certainly in a way which wouldn't be possible on ministerial salary alone. And it was Lynndal Barry's initiative which had built the dam: the dam generated electricity and paid dividends. Yes, they certainly owed a great deal—though of course it was all on a sufficiently regular business basis—to Mr. Barry.
"He's a fine, fine man—one of God's own noblemen, Anna. It's only to be hoped...."
"Hoped, Alf?" Anna was seldom able to supply, off-hand, what one groped for in one's perplexity.
"That Louise," he began a little impatiently, "—that Louise...."
"Why, where is she?" asked Mrs. Needham, looking suddenly around.
Ah, where indeed?
The Rev. Needham experienced an uncomfortable shivery sensation in his stomach. Still, there was no reason other than what Marjory had said about their walking rather far apart. What did she mean? What did she ever mean? Ah, Marjory....