"Oh, one doesn't take long to get used to happiness," said Mrs.
Graves. "It always seems the most natural thing in the world.
Tennyson was all wrong about sorrow. Sorrow is always the casual
mistress, and not the wife. One recovers from everything but
happiness; that is one's native air."






IX

THE VICAR





The Vicarage was a pleasant house, with an air of comfort and
moderate wealth about it. It was part of Frank Sandys' sense,
thought Howard, that he was content to live so simple and retired a
life. He did not often absent himself, even for a holiday. Howard
was shown into the study which Mr. Sandys had improved and
enlarged. It was a big room, with an immense, perfectly plain deal
table in the middle, stained a dark brown; and the Vicar showed
Howard with high glee how each of the four sides of the table was
consecrated to a different avocation. "My accounts end!" he said,
"my sermon side! my correspondence end! my genealogical side!"