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came back to dinner at the vicarage after the funeral. The
blinds had been drawn up, and Philip, against his will, felt a
curious sensation of relief. The body in the house had made
him uncomfortable: in life the poor woman had been all
that was kind and gentle; and yet, when she lay upstairs in
her bed-room, cold and stark, it seemed as though she cast
upon the survivors a baleful influence. The thought horri-
fied Philip.
He found himself alone for a minute or two in the dining-
room with the churchwarden.
‘I hope you’ll be able to stay with your uncle a while,’ he
said. ‘I don’t think he ought to be left alone just yet.’
‘I haven’t made any plans,’ answered Philip. ‘if he wants
me I shall be very pleased to stay.’
By way of cheering the bereaved husband the church-
warden during dinner talked of a recent fire at Blackstable
which had partly destroyed the Wesleyan chapel.
‘I hear they weren’t insured,’ he said, with a little smile.
‘That won’t make any difference,’ said the Vicar. ‘They’ll
get as much money as they want to rebuild. Chapel people
are always ready to give money.’
‘I see that Holden sent a wreath.’
Holden was the dissenting minister, and, though for
Christ’s sake who died for both of them, Mr. Carey nodded
to him in the street, he did not speak to him.
‘I think it was very pushing,’ he remarked. ‘There were
forty-one wreaths. Yours was beautiful. Philip and I ad-
mired it very much.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ said the banker.

0 Of Human Bondage