Here the Vicar fell into that solemn rhythm that marked the periods of his sermons.

He perorated.  “The simple following out of my prescription.  You will remember” (he became suddenly cheery and conversational) “that it was mine.”

“It certainly wasn’t mine,” said Rowcliffe.

He saw it all. That was why the Vicar was so affable.  That was why he was so serene.

And he wasn’t lying.  His state of mind was obviously much too simple.  He was serenely certain of his facts.

* * * * *

By courteous movement of his hand the Vicar condoned Rowcliffe’s rudeness, which he attributed to professional pique very natural in the circumstances.

With admirable tact he changed the subject.

“I also wished to consult you about another matter.  Nothing” (he again reassured the doctor’s nervousness) “to do with my family.”

Rowcliffe was all attention.

“It’s about—­it’s about that poor girl, Essy Gale.”

“Essy,” said Rowcliffe, “is very well and very happy.”

The Vicar’s sudden rigidity implied that Essy had no business to be happy.

“If she is, it isn’t your friend Greatorex’s fault.”

“I’m not so sure of that,” said Rowcliffe.

“I suppose you know he has refused to marry her?”

“I understood as much.  But who asked him to?”

“I did.”

“My dear sir, if you don’t mind my saying so, I think you made a mistake—­if you want him to marry her.  You know what he is.”

“I do indeed.  But a certain responsibility rests with the parson of the parish.”

“You can’t be responsible for everything that goes on.”

“Perhaps not—­when the place is packed with nonconformists.  Greatorex comes of bad dissenting stock.  I can’t hope to have any influence with him.”

He paused.

“But I’m told that you have.”

“Influence?  Not I. I’ve a sneaking regard for Greatorex.  He isn’t half a bad fellow if you take him the right way.”

“Well, then, can’t you take him?  Can’t you say a judicious word?”

“If it’s to ask him to marry Essy, that wouldn’t be very judicious, I’m afraid.  He’ll marry her if he wants to, and if he doesn’t, he won’t.”

“But, my dear Dr. Rowcliffe, think of the gross injustice to that poor girl.”

“It might be a worse injustice if he married her.  Why should he marry her if he doesn’t want to, and if she doesn’t want it?  There she is, perfectly content and happy with her baby.  It’s been a little seedy lately, but it’s absolutely sound.  A very fine baby indeed, and Essy knows it.  There’s nothing wrong with the baby.”

Rowcliffe continued, regardless of the Vicar’s stare:  “She’s better off as she is than tied to a chap who isn’t a bit too sober.  Especially if he doesn’t care for her.”