"God forbid," said the vicar solemnly, "that I should ever be guilty of restoring the church. I have," his voice became penitential, "I have many sins to answer for, but at least----"
Mrs. Eames laid down the potato dish which she still held in her hands, ran to him and flung a plump arm round his neck.
"Timothy, darling," she said, "you haven't any sins or shortcomings. I sometimes think you'd be a better man if you had a few. But you haven't."
"At least," said the vicar, pushing his mouth clear of the hands which covered it, "it shall never be recorded of me that I restored a church. I beg of you, Agatha, to allow me to die without doing that."
He spoke as all good clergy do of church restoration. There is scarcely a vicar or rector to be found in England to-day who does not resent the restoration of his church effected by his predecessor. So far has æsthetic education advanced in our time. So far, but no farther. For there is scarcely a vicar or a rector who does not feel that if the restoration had been left to him it would have been done properly; who would not joyfully undertake a fresh restoration if he saw his way to getting the money. But Mr. Eames at least was sincere. The furniture and fittings of Hailey Compton church deserved the worst that could be said of them, but the vicar would not willingly have removed a pew or erected a screen.
He got up slowly and sadly, releasing himself from his wife's encircling arms. With a bow to Sir Evelyn he turned to leave the room.
"Timothy, Timothy," said Mrs. Eames, "don't go till you've had a pancake."
She turned on Gladys who was making a cheerful noise by knocking table-spoons against the beer jug.
"Go and get the pancakes at once, Gladys. Timothy, my darling, do stay."
"Not if I'm to be asked to restore a church," he said.
"I'm afraid," said Sir Evelyn, when the vicar had shut the door behind him, "that he doesn't like the idea of a pageant."
"Oh, he's always that way at first," said Mrs. Eames, "when I'm doing something for the parish. He was perfectly miserable for a week when I began the rehearsing for 'Othello,' pretending that he didn't like my doing Desdemona. He was just as bad over 'Hamlet,' though I said I'd give up being Ophelia just to please him. I cannot get him to see that it is his duty in a parish like this to get up something for the people. Don't you agree with me, Sir Evelyn?"
