But the interval meant more than this.
Sylvia Moorhouse was staying with her friend. The death of Mrs Moorhouse, and the marriage of the mathematical brother, had left Sylvia homeless, though not in any distressing sense; her inclination was to wander for a year or two, and she remained in England only until the needful arrangements could be concluded.
'You had better come with me,' she said to Sidwell, as they walked together on the lawn after luncheon.
The other shook her head.
'Indeed, you had better.—What are you doing here? What are you going to make of your life?'
'I don't know.'
'Precisely. Yet one ought to live on some kind of plan. I think it is time you got away from Exeter; it seems to me you are finding its atmosphere morbific.'
Sidwell laughed at the allusion.
'You know,' she said, 'that the reverend gentleman is shortly to be married?'
'Oh yes, I have heard all about it. But is he forsaking the Church?'