Lady George bridled up. It was so thoughtless of Paul, bringing all the disagreeables in life into one sentence; and reminiscences of that sort were so unnecessary, for everyone knew that even the best childhood could not stand the light of adult memory.
"But surely there was a talk, even then, of a more suitable building. I suppose it fell through. High time, is it not, dear Mrs. Woodward, for our absentee landlord to repair his neglect?"
"The farm-steadings have first claim to repair, I'm afraid, Blanche," returned Paul, refusing his part. "The church will have to stand over as a luxury."
Lady George, even in her indignation, hastened to cover the imprudence, for the Woodwards were distinctly high.
"Not a bit of it, Paul! We will all set to work at once, Mr. Gillespie, and see what can be done--won't we, dear Mrs. Woodward?"
"I would suggest writing to the Bishop as the first step," said the Reverend James, modestly.
"And then a fancy fair," continued Lady George.
"Delightful! a fancy fair, by all means," echoed an elderly schoolfellow of Blanche's, who had been invited on the express understanding that she was to do the flowers and second all suggestions.
"I trust you will have nothing of the kind, Blanche," put in Paul, with unusual irritation. "I hate charitable pocket-picking. I beg your pardon for the crude expression, Miss Woodward, but I have some excuse. On one occasion in India I was set on by every lady in the station, with the result that I found twenty-five penwipers of sorts in my pocket when I got home."
"Twenty-five, that was a large number," said Alice, stifling a yawn. "What did you do with them?"