Read The Doll for Free Online

so free from awkwardness that there was never the slightest feeling of restraint. He was a great comforter of uneasy souls, and portrayed God in a very gentle light, insisting upon His immense humanity.
    They learnt with relief that God not only pardoned but was fond of sinners, in fact it seemed that He preferred them to the ninety-and-nine just men. Of course the Vicar implied that they were all as yet but seeds in the mighty growth of evolution, and that some time, very far hence, they would know perfection and look upon beauty in its greatest form, but in the meanwhile – well, in the meanwhile one lived and one naturally sinned, and received absolution and sinned again, and one lived according to one’s merits and station-in-the-world.
    One must also bear in mind that conditions were very different from what they were nearly two thousand years ago. All of which was a very consoling philosophy. It was rendered so sacred, too, when spoken in the Vicar’s soft melodious voice; and when he turned his beautiful sympathetic eyes upon each member of the party in turn they thought he was addressing them especially, and could read the secrets of their hearts.
    Later, when he met them casually at the Duchess of Attleborough’s Thé Dansant, or in the front row of the stalls at a first night, he would smile his wonderful sense-disturbing smile, and whisper some amusing description in their ears, but they felt that his eyes were saying ‘I know, I understand.’
    He was unmarried, of course, and yet there was always the hopeless terrible longing that perhaps one day – however, he had fallen for no one yet, though rumour, forgetting the sanctity of the cloth, had linked his name with those of many beautiful and always noble ladies.
    As the Vicar replaced the glass upon the dressing-table, and ran his hand carelessly, boyishly he considered, through his sleek grey hair, he smiled a little to himself. Yes, he had worn well, he was still a very good-looking man.
    He went downstairs, and into his study. The room was large and furnished in remarkable taste. On his desk was a large portrait of one of England’s most beautiful actresses; on it was written ‘Jim, with my love, Mona,’ and the date of a summer two years ago.
    The mantelpiece was adorned with Her Grace of Attleborough, ‘Your very affectionate Norah,’ and on a little table by the window was a striking study of Lady Eustace Carey-Slater, and her dashing signature ‘Attaboy! from Jane.’ The Vicar ran through his letters, and then rang the bell for his butler.
    ‘Any message for me, Wells?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes, sir; two ladies called who said they were in terrible circumstances, and would very much like to have a few words with you. I told them you were very busy and would they see the Curate.’
    The Vicar nodded his approval – some of these women were a pest.
    ‘Then Lord Cranleigh rang up, and asked to see you some time this morning. I told him to come over at once, as you were not engaged.’
    ‘Quite right, Wells. That’s all, thank you. Bring in the paper, will you?’ The man was an admirable servant.
    While he was waiting for his visitor he let his eye run over the list of births, marriages, and deaths. By Jove, Kitty Durand was going to be married, and she had never told him. He must send her a present, he supposed, and a letter of congratulation. ‘Kitty, you wicked child, what’s the meaning of this? You deserve to be spanked. Only eighteen! Your fiancé is a lucky fellow, and I’m going to tell him so. Bless you both.’
    Something like that would do, and a cocktail set from Goodes.
    ‘Yes, Wells, what is it?’
    ‘Lord Cranleigh,’ said the butler, and closed the door behind a boy of about twenty-two, with fair hair and a pleasantly weak face.
    ‘I say, sir, this is most awfully decent of you; can you really spare me a few moments?’
    ‘Come and sit down, young fellow, and take your time,’ said the Vicar, at once assuming his manner of