Julian smiled at her.

‘You’re rather like a little girl still, Bunch.’

Julian Harmon himself had clearly been a model designed by Nature for the age of sixty. He was still about twenty-five years short of achieving Nature’s purpose.

‘I know I’m stupid-’

‘You’re not stupid, Bunch. You’re very clever.’

‘No, I’m not. I’m not a bit intellectual. Though I do try…And I really love it when you talk to me about books and history and things. I think perhaps it wasn’t an awfully good idea to read aloud Gibbon to me in the evenings, because if it’s been a cold wind out, and it’s nice and hot by the fire, there’s something about Gibbon that does, rather, make you go to sleep.’

Julian laughed.

‘But I do love listening to you, Julian. Tell me the story again about the old vicar who preached about Ahasuerus.’

‘You know that by heart, Bunch.’

‘Just tell it me again.Please.’

Her husband complied.

‘It was old Scrymgour. Somebody looked into his church one day. He was leaning out of the pulpit and preaching fervently to a couple of old charwomen. He was shaking his finger at them and saying, “Aha! I know what you are thinking.You think that the Great Ahasuerus of the First Lesson was Artaxerxes the Second. But hewasn’t!” And then with enormous triumph, “He was Artaxerxes theThird.”’

It had never struck Julian Hermon as a particularly funny story himself, but it never failed to amuse Bunch.

Her clear laugh floated out.

‘The old pet!’ she exclaimed. ‘I think you’ll be exactly like that some day, Julian.’

Julian looked rather uneasy.

‘I know,’ he said with humility. ‘I do feel very strongly that I can’t always get the proper simple approach.’

‘I shouldn’t worry,’ said Bunch, rising and beginning to pile the breakfast plates on a tray. ‘Mrs Butt told me yesterday that Butt, who never went to church and used to be practically the local atheist, comes every Sunday now on purpose to hear you preach.’