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He had noticed with satisfaction that it was larger than
anyone’s else. It had looked very well. They began to discuss
the people who attended the funeral. Shops had been closed
for it, and the churchwarden took out of his pocket the no-
tice which had been printed: Owing to the funeral of Mrs.
Carey this establishment will not be opened till one o’clock.’
‘It was my idea,’ he said.
‘I think it was very nice of them to close,’ said the Vicar.
‘Poor Louisa would have appreciated that.’
Philip ate his dinner. Mary Ann had treated the day as
Sunday, and they had roast chicken and a gooseberry tart.
‘I suppose you haven’t thought about a tombstone yet?’
said the churchwarden.
‘Yes, I have. I thought of a plain stone cross. Louisa was
always against ostentation.’
‘I don’t think one can do much better than a cross. If
you’re thinking of a text, what do you say to: With Christ,
which is far better?’
The Vicar pursed his lips. It was just like Bismarck to try
and settle everything himself. He did not like that text; it
seemed to cast an aspersion on himself.
‘I don’t think I should put that. I much prefer: The Lord
has given and the Lord has taken away.’
‘Oh, do you? That always seems to me a little indifferent.’
The Vicar answered with some acidity, and Mr. Graves re-
plied in a tone which the widower thought too authoritative
for the occasion. Things were going rather far if he could not
choose his own text for his own wife’s tombstone. There was
a pause, and then the conversation drifted to parish matters.

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