most vigorously upon their wives. Indeed, her lifelong familiarity
with what she termed the narrowness of a small community made her the
more intolerant, now that its groove was closing about her for a second
time.

Therefore, for over a year now, Catia secretly had chafed with the
friction of her surroundings. As yet, however, she had not confessed to
Brenton the chafing, had not explained to him that her eyes were
searching their horizon for any possible loophole of escape. Catia was
more wise than are most women. She never wasted any breath in demanding
absolute futilities. For the present, she saw clearly, Brenton was
quite contented with his parish. For the present, it was enough for his
young ambitions to know he had a parish and was doing it some good.
Later, she would take a hand in stirring up his slumbering ambition. If
she knew Scott at all, he would not be content for ever with preaching
to country farmers and dandling their babies on his knees; nor with
interspersing moral reflections with inquiries regarding the season's
crops; nor with basing his sermons upon the tares and the wheat, and
the fig tree, and other texts so palpably bucolic in their interest.
However, Catia would grant him a little resting time, before she goaded
him up to girding his loins anew. Indeed, he needed it, she admitted
freely to herself in her more generous moments. The years of study,
long at best, and, in his case, lengthened by needful intervals of
money-earning toil, had taken it out of him badly. He needed a little
time to recover from their strain, to grow accustomed to his new
dignity as preacher and to learn to take himself a little less
strenuously, before he would be fitted to assume his proper place in a
wider field than any of which as yet he appeared to be dreaming.

However, two years, it seemed to Catia, had been an ample rest-time.
Therefore,--

"Fudge!" she said. And then, "Don't be profane, Scott," she rebuked
him, with the literalness which had replaced her meagre childish sense
of humour. "The good Lord didn't make your surplices a full eighth of a
yard too long, nor put you into a black stole for the whole year round.
Besides, you were the only man in that whole convocation that buttoned
his collar in front. I should have supposed you'd have known better
than that, before you got your license."

Brenton's lips curved into the little smile she always dreaded. Because
she dreaded it, it antagonized her.

"