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There was no escaping the swift
procession or the leisurely lunch, where talk came and went in
low-voiced eddies that had the village for their centre. Sophie
heard the vicar and Sir Walter address her husband lightly as
Chapin! (She also remembered many women known in a previous life
who habitually addressed their husbands as Mr. Such-an-one.)
After lunch Lady Conant talked to her explicitly of maternity as
that is achieved in cottages and farm-houses remote from aid, and
of the duty thereto of the mistress of Pardons.
A gate in a beech hedge, reached across triple lawns, let them
out before tea-time into the unkempt south side of their land.
"I want your hand, please," said Sophie as soon as they were safe
among the beech boles and the lawless hollies. "D'you remember
the old maid in 'Providence and the Guitar' who heard the
Commissary swear, and hardly reckoned herself a maiden lady
afterward? Because I'm a relative of hers. Lady Conant is--"
"Did you find out anything about the Lashmars?" he interrupted.


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