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to put on her bonnet, during which the Vicar, in a volumi-
nous cloak, stood in the hall with just such an expression on
his face as would have become an early Christian about to
be led into the arena. It was extraordinary that after thirty
years of marriage his wife could not be ready in time on
Sunday morning. At last she came, in black satin; the Vic-
ar did not like colours in a clergyman’s wife at any time,
but on Sundays he was determined that she should wear
black; now and then, in conspiracy with Miss Graves, she
ventured a white feather or a pink rose in her bonnet, but
the Vicar insisted that it should disappear; he said he would
not go to church with the scarlet woman: Mrs. Carey sighed
as a woman but obeyed as a wife. They were about to step
into the carriage when the Vicar remembered that no one
had given him his egg. They knew that he must have an egg
for his voice, there were two women in the house, and no
one had the least regard for his comfort. Mrs. Carey scold-
ed Mary Ann, and Mary Ann answered that she could not
think of everything. She hurried away to fetch an egg, and
Mrs. Carey beat it up in a glass of sherry. The Vicar swal-
lowed it at a gulp. The communion plate was stowed in the
carriage, and they set off.
The fly came from The Red Lion and had a peculiar smell
of stale straw. They drove with both windows closed so that
the Vicar should not catch cold. The sexton was waiting at
the porch to take the communion plate, and while the Vicar
went to the vestry Mrs. Carey and Philip settled themselves
in the vicarage pew. Mrs. Carey placed in front of her the
sixpenny bit she was accustomed to put in the plate, and