"I do what I can, but I can't stop the wind blowing."
"Ah—of course. We are all in the hands of God's providence. No more talk about your retiring from farming, I hope?"
"Why, where ever did you hear that rumour?"
"I believe your husband said something about it one day at the parish meeting."
"Oh, I think not. You've made a mistake. He must have meant something else. We shan't retire for years, if ever we do at all—and I don't see why we should. We both hate town life."
"Of course, of course. I thought perhaps that after your husband's stroke he might find farming a little strenuous after this unfortunate affair." The vicar coughed discreetly.
"Oh well, now that it's over, I don't suppose we shall have much more bother."
Didn't she, indeed! Coast on the organ seat smiled bitterly. He could picture in the darkness Mrs. Robson's smile of smug self-satisfaction.
"Of course—in your hands—sure to be all right. Very capable. Very."
They moved away together down the aisle. The sexton limped round the church like a great bat, extinguishing lights and covering brass work with baize hoods.