“I never read poetry. I haven’t time.”
“Really? And the church must have been so pretty, buried in them. But then Mamma is very low church.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, she does not like ornaments to a church. I think it is very silly of her, though Crayshaw goes too far with his lighted candles and so on.”
“But what does it matter?”
“It is popery, that is all. It is going to Rome.”
“What’s that?”
“Father was so fond of his roses. Making him take them down like that was a shame.”
“Listen to those bells, June. The sound comes tumbling over the country from so far off. It would be Purley church, I suppose.”