"I be asking myself if my heart be right. It bain't."
"Maybe 'tis your stomach, Mother."
"No, Alferd. I be no true patriot."
"Well, I never! If such a woman as you are is bogged down, where are we, I ask?"
"You be in the right path, Alferd. 'Tis some comfort to think o' that. Now, let me bide wi' my own thoughts. Fancy be waiting for 'ee. Be kind to the maid, Alferd, if so be as you find her, like me, down on beam ends after this marning's sermon."
"Fancy'll be all right, I wager."
"Maybe. I tell 'ee this: we women be fearfully and wonnerfully made—a puzzle to ourselves and all mortal men. That be a fact, my son. I knows this too hard for any man to understand. If you stayed on here wi' me, wi' the whole-souled notion o' comforting an unhappy 'ooman, I should wax peevish wi' 'ee. God forgive us! We be cruel to they we love, when life goes wrong wi' us."
Alfred wisely had a squint at his motor-'bus to hearten himself up, and then took the road to the Vicarage.
Mrs. Yellam cleared away the dinner-things and washed them up. It was too early, as yet, to expect visitors. She went into the parlour and opened the big Bible, staring at Alfred's name and her own. She had rid herself of him cleverly. Had he stayed, she would have broken down. She wanted to make him swear to remain in Nether-Applewhite. She had made up her mind to do so that very morning. Every word spoken by the Parson seemed to be directed at her; his chance shafts quivered in the heart that was not right.
She closed the Bible.