“That won’t make any difference,” said the Vicar. “They’ll get as much money as they want to rebuild. Chapel people are always ready to give money.”
“I see that Holden sent a wreath.”
Holden was the dissenting minister, and, though for Christ’s sake who died for both of them, Mr. Carey nodded to him in the street, he did not speak to him.
“I think it was very pushing,” he remarked. “There were forty-one wreaths. Yours was beautiful. Philip and I admired it very much.”
“Don’t mention it,” said the banker.
He had noticed with satisfaction that it was larger than anyone’s else. It had looked very well. They began to discuss the people who attended the funeral. Shops had been closed for it, and the churchwarden took out of his pocket the notice which had been printed: “Owing to the funeral of Mrs. Carey this establishment will not be opened till one o’clock.”
“It was my idea,” he said.
“I think it was very nice of them to close,” said the Vicar. “Poor Louisa would have appreciated that.”
Philip ate his dinner. Mary Ann had treated the day as Sunday, and they had roast chicken and a gooseberry tart.
“I suppose you haven’t thought about a tombstone yet?” said the churchwarden.