“Only slightly, but I like him immensely. He’s a Catholic, of course—and a good one, I should say. I often encounter him on Sunday mornings, on his way from Mass; and we walk along and yarn in all amity so far as our road lies together. That’s as things should be, to my mind! And he’s really most generous—often comes to play and brings his pupils to our little parish concerts, as you know, Miss Winston.”
Winnie nodded.
“Yes, the maestro is the kindest old thing imaginable, and so simple—not a bit of side.”
“He’s a genius,” said the vicar. “And I think true genius always is simple. I met him this afternoon, of all places in the world in the post office itself.”
“The post office?” cried Grace. “Not where—not Mrs. Cave’s?”
“Yes. It was when I was on my way from your house, Armitage. I looked in for a chat with Mrs. Cave, and little Jessie, who really haven’t got over the shock yet. It will be a long time before they do, and they talk of giving up the shop as soon as they can find another. No wonder.”
“The telephone booth is partitioned off now, by order of the police,” said Austin.
“Yes, very necessary, of course; but awkward for the Caves, for it means that they have to go out at the shop door and in at the side one before they can get to their own rooms. I was just consoling the good lady—with the suggestion that now she would have more walks abroad and fresh air than she’s had for years; no use condoling, you know, that would only make things seem worse than they are—when in comes Mr. Cacciola and his niece, one of the loveliest girls I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“His niece! I didn’t know he had one—not in England!” exclaimed Winnie.