gone.”
“Why should they know?”
“But it isn’t to Dr. Haydock’s. Miss Wetherby does know that, because she telephoned to Miss Hartnell who lives next door to him and who would have been sure to see her.”
“It is a mystery to me,” I said, “how anyone ever gets any nourishment in this place. They must eat their meals standing up by the window so as to be sure of not missing anything.”
“And that’s not all,” said Griselda, bubbling with pleasure. “They’ve found out about the Blue Boar. Dr. Stone and Miss Cram have got rooms next door to each other, but ”—she waved an impressive forefinger—“ no communicating door! ”
“That,” I said, “must be very disappointing to everybody.”
At which Griselda laughed.
Thursday started badly. Two of the ladies of my parish elected to quarrel about the church decorations. I was called in to adjudicate between two middle-aged ladies, each of whom was literally trembling with rage. If it had not been so painful, it would have been quite an interesting physical phenomenon.
Then I had to reprove two of our choir boys for persistent sweet sucking during the hours of divine service, and I had an uneasy feeling that I was not doing the job as wholeheartedly as I should have done.
Then our organist, who is distinctly “touchy,” had taken offence and had to be smoothed down.
And four of my poorer parishioners declared open rebellion against Miss Hartnell, who came to me bursting with rage about it.