“Yes, rather. How’s everyone?”
“Going strong, as usual. Father talks Prayer Book revision every night at dinner till I drop asleep. He’s got it fearfully hot and strong just now; meetings about it twice a week, and letters to the Guardian in between. I wish they’d hurry up and get it revised and have done. Oh, by the way, he says you’ll want to fight him about that now—because you’ll be too High to want it touched, or something. Are you High?”
“Oh, I think so. But I should like the Prayer Book to be revised, too.”
Daphne sighed. “It’s a bore if you’re High. Father’ll want to argue at meals. I do hope you don’t want to keep the Athanasian Creed, anyhow.”
“Yes, rather. I like it, except the bits slanging other people.”
“Oh, well,” Daphne looked relieved. “As long as you don’t like those bits, I daresay it’ll be all right. Canon Jackson came to lunch yesterday, and he liked it, slanging and all, and oh, my word, how tired I got of him and father! What can it matter whether one has it or not? It’s only a few times a year, anyhow. Oh, and father’s keen on a new translation of the Bible, too. I daresay you’ve seen about it; he keeps writing articles in the Spectator about it.... And the Bellairs have got a new car, a Panhard; Molly’s learning to drive it. Nevill let me the other day; it was ripping. I do wish father’d keep a car. I should think he might now. It would be awfully useful for him for touring round to committee meetings. Mind that corner; Timothy always funks it a bit.”
They turned into the drive. It may or may not have hitherto been mentioned that Eddy’s home was a Deanery, because his father was a Dean. The Cathedral under his care was in a midland county, in fine, rolling, high-hedged country, suitable for hunting, and set with hard-working squires. The midlands may not be picturesque or romantic, but they are wonderfully healthy, and produce quite a number of sane, level-headed, intelligent people.
Eddy’s father and mother were in the hall.
“You look a little tired, dear,” said his mother, after the greetings that may be imagined. “I expect it will be good for you to get a rest at home.”
“Trust Finch to keep his workers on the run,” said the Dean, who had been at Cambridge with Finch, and hadn’t liked him particularly. Finch had been too High Church for his taste even then; he himself had always been Broad, which was, no doubt, why he was now a dean.