“Beef or chicken, Millie?” said Mrs. Trenchard.
“Chicken, please,” said Millie. “Shall I cut the bread?”
“White, please,” said Henry.
“Well—” went on Aunt Betty. “As I was saying, on ‘Church-Kneelers’ signed by ‘A Vicar’. Well, it’s a very curious thing, but you remember, Harriet, that nice Mr. Redpath—”
“One moment, Betty, please,” said Mrs. Trenchard.
“Not so much as that, Harry. Simply the leg. Thank you, dear. Simply the leg. That nice Mr. Redpath—with the nice wife and so many dear little children—he was curate to Mr. Williams of St. Clemens for years. Harriet, you’ll remember—one year all the children had scarlet fever together, and two of the poor little things died, although I couldn’t help thinking that really it was rather a mercy—”
“Mustard, please,” said Henry.
“More beef, Aggie?” said Mrs. Trenchard.
“No, thank you,” said Aggie, snapping her teeth upon a piece of bread. She was thinking: “How selfish they all are! They can’t see how I’m suffering!”
“Well, that Mr. Redpath—You must remember him, Harriet, because he had a red moustache and a rather fine white forehead—when he left Mr. Williams got a living somewhere in Yorkshire, near York, I think, or was it Scarborough? Scarborough, because I remember when I wrote to congratulate him he answered me in such a nice letter, and said that it would be just the place for the children. You remember, Katherine, I showed it you.”