Free Some Tame Gazelle by Barbara Pym Page B

beginning to wonder whether it would be possible to go after all.
    Belinda reflected on the truth of the saying that husbands and wives grow to be like each other, for it might almost have been Henry talking. So badly in need of a holiday, and yet who could be left in charge of the Mothers’ Union and there was that rather delicate affair of the altar brasses and the unpleasantness between Miss Jenner and Miss Beard … listening to her Belinda began to feel very gloomy indeed. It seemed almost as if Agatha had decided not to go.
    ‘I’m sure I should be very willing to do what I could,’ she said doubtfully, aware that she was not a mother and was far too much of a moral coward to deal satisfactorily with even the slightest unpleasantness. ‘I often go into Miss Jenner’s shop to buy knitting wool,’ she added, ‘perhaps I could say a word…’
    To Belinda’s surprise, Agatha seemed grateful for her offer of help and they found themselves talking about Mr Donne and what a great asset he was to the parish, after which it was the most natural thing in the world for Belinda to ask after the Archdeacon.
    Agatha smiled indulgently. He was well, considering everything, she said.
    Considering what? Belinda wondered, and ventured to remark that men were really much more difficult to please than women, who bore their burdens without complaining.
    Agatha nodded and sighed. There was a short pause during which Agatha seemed to be intent on finding a piece of wool to match the sock she was mending. Belinda took up the Church Times and began glancing idly through the advertisements. A priest’s cloak for sale, 44-inch chest – clerical evening dress, tall, slim build, never worn – she paused, wondering what story, sad or dramatic, lay behind those words. She had just turned to the back pages and was wondering whether Harriet would care to spend part of their summer holiday at a Bright Christian Guest House at Bognor, when the door opened and the Archdeacon came in.
    He kissed Agatha in a hasty, husbandly way, which rather surprised Belinda, who had not thought that any outward signs of affection ever passed between them. Perhaps it distressed her a little, too, but he seemed so genuinely pleased to see her that she soon recovered and was listening happily to his account of how he had spent the afternoon, visiting a deathbed and then going on to see the old people in the workhouse.
    ‘These humble people remind me of Gray’s Elegy ,’ he said affectedly with his head on one side.
    Neither Belinda nor Agatha had heard his conversation with Harriet, so that they listened with respectful interest while he quoted the appropriate verse. Nor were they in a hurry to be gone, as Harriet had been, and so did not say ‘Oh, quite’ when he had finished but enlarged intelligently on the charming theme. Agatha was reminded of Piers Plowman , Belinda of the poetry of Crabbe, which she could not remember very exactly, but she felt she had to be reminded of something out of self-defence, for Agatha had got a First and knew all about Piers Plowman . Indeed, she seemed about to quote from it and would probably have done so had not the Archdeacon suddenly been reminded of Wordsworth and some suitable lines in The Excursion . Then he began to read from The Prelude . Belinda thought Agatha looked rather bored and fidgety, but she herself was delighted and lived happily in the past until the entry of Mr Donne brought her back into the present.
    ‘Your sister brought me some delicious plums this afternoon,’ he said, addressing Belinda, ‘and some homemade cake and jelly. I’m afraid I’m getting quite spoilt.’
    The Archdeacon looked envious. The plums in their garden hadn’t done particularly well this year and Agatha was always too busy with parochial work to make jelly or cakes or even to ask the cook to make them.
    ‘Ah, well, you won’t always be a curate,’ said Belinda indulgently.
    ‘That doesn’t follow at all,’ said