he first few months of
innovation had made her treat the new rector merely with distant
rudeness, and descended upon him in the three rooms of Brodnyx Rectory
which he inhabited with cheerful contempt for the rest of its howling
vastness.

She emerged from the encounter strangely subdued. Mr. Palmer had been
polite, even sympathetic, but he had plainly shown her the indifference
(to use no cruder term) that he felt for her as an ecclesiastical
authority. He was not going to put the Lion and the Unicorn back in
their old place, they belonged to a bygone age which was now forgotten,
to a bad old language which had lost its meaning. The utmost he would do
was to consent to hang them up over the door, so that they could bless
Joanna's going out and coming in. With this she had to be content.

Poor Joanna! The episode was more than a passing outrage and
humiliation--it was ominous, it gave her a queer sense of downfall.
With her beloved symbol something which was part of herself seemed also
to have been dispossessed. She became conscious that she was losing
authority. She realized that for long she had been weakening in regard
to Ellen, and now she was unable to stand up to this heavy, sleek young
man whom her patronage had appointed.... The Lion and the Unicorn had
from childhood been her sign of power--they were her theology in
oleograph, they stood for the Church of England as by law established,
large rectory houses, respectable and respectful clergymen, "dearly
beloved brethren" on Sunday mornings, and a nice nap after dinner. And
now they were gone, and in their place was a queer Jesuitry of kyries
and candles, and a gospel which kicked and goaded and would not allow
one to sleep....

Sec.7

It began to be noticed at the Woolpack that Joanna was losing heart.
"She's lost her spring," they said in the bar--"she's got all she
wanted, and now she's feeling dull"--"she's never had what she wanted
and now she's feeling tired"--"her sister's beat her and parson's beat
her--she can't be properly herself." There was some talk about making
her an honorary member of the Farmers' Club, but it never got beyond
talk--the traditions of that exclusive body were too strong to admit her
even now.

To Joanna it seemed as if life had newly and powerfully armed itself
against her. Her love for Ellen was making her soft, she was letting her
sister rule. And not only at home but abroad she was losing her power.
Both Church and