To Joyce’s surprise she was kissed again.
“How splendid,” said Joyce.
Lady Pomfret glanced at her keenly, but no blush stole into Joyce’s cheeks.
“You must stay to luncheon, child. At this moment, Fishpingle, I believe, is decanting a bottle of our ‘Yellow Seal’ port, and the Squire is assisting him. We were a little put out this morning about some condemned pigsties, but we have forgotten that. And, by the way, have you walked up here to see a lonely old woman, or is your visit—parochial?”
“Both,” said Joyce.
“Ah! Well, under the special circumstances, shall we decide to side-track—I learnt that word from dear Lionel—the parochial part. If you like you can tell me.”
“Father wanted so much to know about the chancel repairs. He believes that the roof may fall in.”
The Pomfret family pew happened to be in the chancel, another bone of contention between parson and squire. Lady Pomfret’s kind eyes perceived that Joyce was ill at ease, unhappy at mentioning one of many things left undone. She tapped her cheek.
“How nice of your father to be thinking of me. He, brave man, would stand erect if the heavens fell. Now, I promise you that the roof shall be put in order.”
Joyce thanked her, much relieved. Lady Pomfret continued gaily: