“What a happy and fortunate man your good husband is to possess such a wife.” And so saying, he took his hat from the hall stand and went out into the street.
The keen evening air felt like a cool hand upon his brow, and Eliphalet hummed to himself as he went. He turned into the High Street as the Town Hall clock struck six.
Six! He was very early. The curtain didn’t rise until 7.30, and a quarter of an hour was ample time to assume the clerical garb of the Reverend Coles. Wherefore he had a full hour to spend as he liked, and it was a delicious evening for a walk.
Beyond the fringe of factory chimneys lay rolling downs and green valleys—valleys with light-hearted brooks chuckling among the stones. Years had passed since he sat beside a brook, with the water thrilling his bare toes—and all of a sudden a great desire possessed him to be alone in a solitude of water and willows.
There was a policeman standing a few paces away, and to him Eliphalet said:
“Could you direct me to a valley with a stream running through it—where I can be all to myself—alone?”
The policeman, a broad-beamed Lancashire lad, regarded him suspiciously.
“I can tell you where you’ll be alone all right,” he responded, “and happen you’ll find yourself there sooner than you expect unless you get a move on.”
“But why?”
“Get off.”