en't you just a little sorry for me? Week after week, month after
month, always the same routine of meeting and parish work, and keeping
house. It is Jacky's work--his vocation; but for me, a girl of
twenty-two, do you think it is quite _fair_?"

"I don't think you ought to ask me such questions. I would rather not
interfere," I said feebly. I knew it was feeble, but it is a very, very
delicate business to interfere between husband and wife, and moreover
the blame seemed fairly evenly divided. The Vicar had undoubtedly made
a mistake in marrying a young girl for her beauty and charm, without
considering if she were a true helpmeet for his life's work. Delphine
had undoubtedly made a mistake in "never thinking" of her future as a
clergyman's wife; and now he was blindly expecting a miraculous
transformation of the butterfly into a drone, while the butterfly was
poising her wings, impatient for flight. I sat silent, and Delphine
said pettishly:--

"I don't ask you to interfere. Only to sympathise. Is this a life for
a girl of my age?"

"It depends entirely upon the girl and her ideas of `life'. Some girls
would--"

"What?"

"Love what you call `parish'. Find in it her greatest interest."

She stared at me, the colour slowly mounting to her face. Her voice
dropped to a whisper.

"Yes, I know. If I were good, and really cared! Evelyn, I am going to
confess something dreadful. At home, when I had no responsibility, I
cared far more than I do now. I thought it would be the other way
about, but the feeling that I _must_ do things, _must_ go to meetings
and committees, _must_ go to church for all the services, makes me feel
that I'd rather not! I daren't say so to Jacky. He'd be so grieved.
I'm grieved myself. I daren't tell anyone but you. Do you think any
clergyman's wife ever felt the same before?"

I laughed.

"I'm sure of it! Thousands of them. It's not right to expect a
clergyman's wife to be an unpaid curate--plus a housekeeper, and it
needs special grace to stand a succession of committees. How would it
be to drop some of the most boring duties and concentrate upon the
things that you could do with all your heart? You'd be happier, and
would do more good!"

"Do you think I should?" She clutched eagerly at the suggestion.
"Really, I believe you are right. As you say, I have not the strength
to play the part of an unpaid curate."

But that misquotation roused me, and I contradicted