English drama -- 20th century; English fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, English
To-day Mr. Trubshaw preached a topical sermon about the Irish
situation. His was the gospel of the _Morning Post_, slightly tempered
by Christianity. It was our duty, he said, to pray for the Irish first
of all, and if that had no effect upon recruiting, why, then, we must
conscribe them as zealously as we had prayed before.
Jacobsen leaned back in his pew with a sigh of contentment. A
connoisseur, he recognized that this was the right stuff.
"Well," said Mr. Petherton over the Sunday beef at lunch, "how did you
like our dear Vicar?"
"He was splendid," said Jacobsen, with grave enthusiasm. "One of the
best sermons I've ever heard."
"Indeed? I shall really have to go and hear him again. It must be
nearly ten years since I listened to him."
"He's inimitable."
Marjorie looked at Jacobsen carefully. He seemed to be perfectly
serious. She was more than ever puzzled by the man.
The days went slipping by, hot blue days that passed like a flash
almost without one's noticing them, cold grey days, seeming
interminable and without number, and about which one spoke with a
sense of justified grievance, for the season was supposed to be
summer. There was fighting going on in France--terrific battles, to
judge from the headlines in the _Times_; but, after all, one day's
paper was very much like another's. Marjorie read them dutifully, but
didn't honestly take in very much; at least she forgot about things
very soon. She couldn't keep count with the battles of Ypres, and when
somebody told her that she ought to go and see the photographs of the
_Vindictive_, she smiled vaguely and said Yes, without remembering
precisely what the _Vindictive_ was--a ship, she supposed.
Guy was in France, to be sure, but he was an Intelligence Officer now,
so that she was hardly anxious about him at all. Clergymen used to say
that the war was bringing us all back to a sense of the fundamental
realities of life. She supposed it was true: Guy's enforced absences
were a pain to her, and the difficulties of housekeeping continually
increased and multiplied.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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