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.’Why, she’s quite a nice-looking woman, thought Mr.Latimer suddenly, and, indeed, Miss Morrow looked not unpleasing in the dim light.The rain and the exercise of walking had freshened her complexion and brightened her eyes, and such hair as showed under her unbecomingly sensible felt hat had curled itself into little tendrils.When her hair was tidy it was so tightly scraped back that one would never have suspected that it could curl.If she were decently dressed, thought Mr.Latimer … but then pulled himself up.What on earth was he thinking about?‘Yes, I think I ought to have a bath and take some aspirins,’ he said seriously.‘I don’t want my rheumatism to come on.’‘And perhaps you ought to put some mustard in the bath and have a hot drink,’ suggested Miss Morrow.Could it be that she was making fun of him? he thought, glancing quickly at her.But her expression was perfectly serious, and she even told him that there was some mustard in the bathroom cupboard.Miss Morrow went into her bedroom.She felt that she wanted to laugh, a good long laugh because life was so funny, so much funnier than any book.But as sane people don’t laugh out loud when they are alone in their bedrooms, she had to content herself with going about smiling as she changed her clothes and tidied her hair.She went to the wardrobe to get out her brown marocain with the beige collar, but as she was looking among the drab folds of her dresses, her eye was caught by the rich gleam of her blue velvet.It had been bought to attend a wedding.Miss Doggett had thought it an extravagance.The brown marocain with a new collar would have done just as well.Nobody would expect Miss Morrow to be grandly dressed.It had been quite a success at the wedding, but Miss Morrow had never worn it since.She felt happier in the brown marocain, which Miss Doggett’s eye would regard with approval, if it regarded it at all.I’ll wear the blue velvet tonight, thought Miss Morrow, it’s silly to keep things.It would give her pleasure to wear it, and she wouldn’t be embarrassed by any comment from Mr.Latimer.Men never noticed things like that.At twenty minutes to eight she was down in the drawing-room.With sudden recklessness she went to the fireplace and piled more coal on the fire.They would be coming out of church any time now.Supposing the vicar were to call to find out why Mr.Latimer hadn’t been at evensong? What should she say? She hoped he would soon come down, so that he could deal with the situation in his own way.She took her knitting out of its cretonne bag and examined it to see when she could start casting off for the armholes.She was in the middle of a row when the front door bell rang.Oh, dear, she thought, that must be the vicar.She flung her knitting onto the sofa and ran swiftly to the window to see if she could catch a glimpse of whoever it was, but all she could see was a dark shape that looked more like a woman than a man.Where was Maggie? Why wasn’t she answering the door? At last, after what seemed a very long time, Miss Morrow heard her shambling old footsteps in the hall.Then the drawing-room door was opened.‘It’s Mrs.Wardell,’ said Maggie.‘Oh, Mrs.Wardell, good evening.How are you? Do sit down.’ Miss Morrow began scurrying about the room, picking up her knitting and putting it down again, clearing imaginary objects off chairs and sofas.‘Well, well,’ said Mr.Latimer, coming into the room rubbing his hands and looking very pleased.‘I had a splendid bath.’ When he saw Mrs.Wardell he stopped in the middle of the room, his hands suspended in mid-air.‘Oh, good evening, Mrs.Wardell, how nice to see you,’ he said in a hurrying tone.Then, evidently feeling that some explanation was needed as to why he had been having a bath when he should have been assisting at evensong, he plunged into a long and complicated story about how he had suddenly received a message from a friend who was vicar of a distant parish in the Cotswolds, asking him to go over and take evensong.‘I went on my bicycle,’ he said, ‘and got rather wet coming back, so I thought it would be wise to have a hot bath.’Miss Morrow listened to this story in amazement.She wondered if it showed in her face, for she had never before, as far as she could remember, heard a clergyman telling what she knew to be deliberate lies.And what a hopeless story! she thought pityingly.If Mr.Latimer had thought it necessary to give some explanation of his splendid bath, surely he could have done so without involving himself in such an account, the falseness of which could easily be proved by judicious enquiries.Why couldn’t he have said that he had a bad cold and leave it at that? Mrs.Wardell might have accepted a cold, but, as it was, she would probably go asking awkward questions about this friend and his parish in the Cotswolds, which Mr.Latimer might find difficult to answer.Nor was Miss Morrow mistaken; before she could think of anything to say, Mrs.Wardell was asking in an interested tone the name of the place where he had been.‘Crampton Hodnet,’ said Mr.Latimer glibly.Was there such a place? Miss Morrow wondered.She was sure that there was not.She waited nervously for Mrs.Wardell to make some comment and sat rapidly knitting purl instead of plain, not daring to look at anybody.‘What a nice name,’ said Mrs.Wardell.‘I don’t think I’ve been there.Ben wondered what had happened to you, if you were ill or something, so I thought I’d better just slip in and see.’‘I think I’ve managed to stave off a cold,’ said Mr.Latimer, in a high, rather sickly voice.He clutched at his collar and gave a determined cough.‘It’s a pity you weren’t in church, Miss Morrow,’ went on Mrs.Wardell pleasantly.‘Old Lady Halkin had one of her turns and had to be taken out.It was really quite exciting.’‘Miss Morrow has a cold,’ said Mr.Latimer quickly.Mrs.Wardell suddenly burst out laughing.‘You poor things,’ she said, ‘I think I’d better say that you both had colds.Ben’s very understanding, and I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be young myself.’‘But I’m not young,’ protested Miss Morrow in agitation.Mrs.Wardell wagged her finger and stood up to go.‘But you’re looking very nice in your blue velvet,’ she said.‘I must rush off now.Old Dr.Fremantle and his wife are coming to supper.So depressing.’ She sighed.‘Reminiscences of Oxford in the eighties, with a few daring little academic jokes.And poor Olive’s so dreary.’They went out into the hall together.‘What pretty berries,’ said Mrs.Wardell, examining the ones Miss Morrow had picked in the afternoon, and which lay on a chair in the hall, waiting to be put in water.‘Yes, aren’t they?’ agreed Miss Morrow.‘I got them on Shotover this afternoon.’‘Oh, did you go there this afternoon?’ said Mr.Latimer, in a ridiculously casual voice.‘I’ve heard it’s a very nice walk.’‘Particularly when it’s raining and you ought to be assisting at evensong,’ said Miss Morrow, when they had got Mrs.Wardell safely out of the door.‘Oh, what an experience!’ said Mr.Latimer, flopping down on the sofa.‘Well, I really think you made it worse,’ said Miss Morrow.‘Your story was ridiculous.Heaven knows what Mrs.Wardell thinks we’ve been doing.She spoke almost as if … well, you know what I mean
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