But now they were stopping at the church. A great many people were standing round the door and in the churchyard. They were just going in.

“You let me get out first,” she said to John, as she always did. As if she thought he might spring from the carriage and help her to alight.

Eric was out already. And now Mr. Hardwick, wearing a very high collar, was unctuously coming forward to give Mr. Vernon his arm.

“Good morning, sir. Good morning, Mrs. Richard.” His tone was discreetly melancholy. “One might say that this weather was quite ideal. Allow me. Thank you.”

He was used to steering Mr. Vernon from the carriage to his seat in the bank office, where he was frequently informed tactfully of an overdraft; and the extraordinary violence with which John left the victoria did not break his wrist. Kent brushed some cigar ash from his master’s coat, quite unaware that he was making the same noises as when he groomed the horse.

John shuffled up the path to the church door on Mr. Hardwick’s arm. Lily and Eric followed. Several people raised their hats with discreet respect. Lily felt resigned to their sitting at the back now that she saw what a lot of people had come. If they didn’t, they would never get out for the dedication at all.

There was Mr. Ramsbotham. Whatever was he doing here? Lily didn’t know whether she felt pleased or not that Mr. Ramsbotham had seen them and was edging his way up. No, she was not pleased, she felt—looking at his ruddy, veined face, with its cropped moustache, hairy lobes to the ears and rather bald forehead. He jarred upon her mood, so neatly dressed in dark blue, with a black tie. And, as usual, he was wearing spats.

“Good morning, Mrs. Vernon. Good morning, sir. May I help you find a seat?”

He disregarded Mr. Hardwick completely; but Lily didn’t, after all, dislike him. Evidently he knew how to behave. She had never seen him sobered down like this before. On that day he had shown them over the mill she had been shocked but rather intrigued by his naïve vulgarity. “Well, Mrs. Vernon, I’m afraid this is rather an awkward step up. I won’t look, I promise.” Or his gallantry, asking her to advise him about some samples of coloured string: “We always have to ask the ladies, you know, when it’s a question of taste.” And then, when he came over to see the Hall, there were his jokes about the “Leather Bottel.” And of course he had discovered that embarrassing circular hole in the seat of the porter’s chair, under the cushion. All the same, thinking of these things, she couldn’t help smiling at him slightly.

In silence, with heavy scraping of footsteps on the stone, the crowd passed into the church, where the organ was booming. Mr. Ramsbotham had taken control of Papa. They moved into the first of the pitch-pine pews. The crowd in front was so thick that there was no glimpse to be had of the Bishop. The service was just going to begin.