"My dear, when you married a poor country clergyman," said the Vicar, "you renounced all that sort of thing. We must be content with our one-hoss shay. Some day, perhaps, _all_ the clergy of the Church of England will be properly paid for devoting their lives to the good of the community, instead of only a few of them. The labourer is worthy of his car. Ha! ha! But I'm afraid it won't happen in _our_ time, if it ever happens at all. Too many Socialists and Radicals gnashing their teeth at us. In the meantime let's take the little pleasures that come in our way, and not envy those who are better off than we are. We must never forget that there are some who might think they had a right to envy us." "Oh, yes, dear," said Mrs. Mercer. "We _are_ very well off, really. I'm sure I don't envy anybody. And I really _am_ enjoying myself now, and am going to, all the evening." They were on their way to dine with the Pembertons at Grays. As the Vicarage horse was getting a trifle too aged to be called upon to make an effort of ten miles each way the Vicar had borrowed a car from the Abbey, and was now being carried softly through the country, which was at its most peaceful and soothing on a fine evening of early July, with the hay scenting the air and the sun slanting its rays over the wide and varied landscape. "It _was_ kind of Caroline to let us have the car," said Mrs. Mercer, reverting to the subject a little later. "It would have taken us hours to get there with poor old Tiglath-Pilezer, and I shouldn't have liked to _bicycle_ to dinner at a house like Grays. I'm glad she sent us an open car. One sees the lovely country so much better." "It's the smallest car they have," said the Vicar; "and I should have preferred a closed one for coming home in. However, we mustn't grumble. It's very kind, as you say, for his rich parishioners to lend their clergyman a car at all." "I wonder who will be there to-night," said Mrs. Mercer. "Do you think it will be a big dinner-party, Albert? I really think I _must_ get a new dress, if we are to begin dining out again. I am quite ashamed to appear in this one at the Abbey. I've worn it so often there." "Mrs. Pemberton asked us in quite an informal way," said the Vicar, ignoring the latter part of his wife's speech. "There may be others there, or there may be just ourselves. I must confess I should rather like to meet a few people from the other side of the county. The Pembertons are quite on the edge of our circle, and they're about the only decent people in it." "Except our own people at Abington," Mrs. Mercer corrected him. "We are very lucky in the Graftons, I must say." "Yes, I suppose we are, as things go," said the Vicar. "I would rather have had regular country people, though, than rich Londoners. They get absorbed in their friends whom they bring down, and aren't of so much use to their country neighbours as they might be."