"By the way, Charles," she said, "did you ever speak to Brown about that young woman?"
"What young woman?" asked the vicar lazily. Mrs. Peters recounted the incident.
"No, my dear," said the vicar. "You could not tell me her name: all you had to go on was a voice, and I could hardly catechize him on that. Besides, it may be a worthy attachment."
"Very possibly," agreed his wife, though her tone was skeptical. "I have no objections to that. But while he is at work ..."
"Awful word!" said Tony, for the sake of saying something. "I wonder what work is like—real continuous work, I mean."
"We can offer you plenty," said the vicar cheerfully. "The lawn wants cutting. You could trim the hedge, too, and——"
"No thanks," said Tony with a shudder. "Any other time I'd be glad, but just now I'm too busy."
"Of course, Mr. Wild, my husband was joking. But don't you think that an idle life...? Would not work—literary work, for example—be a good thing for a young man?"
"I'm too old to begin," said Tony wearily. "Now, a hearty young spark like my friend Bangs——"
The spark flickered into a feeble flame of protest and died away.