The East End window was
flaming purple, with a crimson Christ ascending and yellow and blue
disciples amazed together on the ground. Paul stood flushed with
pride and pleasure, his hand through Maggie's arm.
"That's a Partright window," he said with that inflection that
Maggie was already beginning to think of as "his public voice."
"I'm afraid, Paul dear," said Maggie, "I'm very ignorant."
"Don't know Partright? Oh, he's the great man of the last thirty
years--did the great East window of St. Martin's, Pontefract. We had
a job to get him I can tell you. Just look at that purple."
"On the right you'll see the Memorial Tablet to our brave lads who
fell in the South African War--Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori-
-very appropriate. Brave fellows, brave fellows! Just behind you,
Maggie, is the Mickleham Font, one of the finest specimens of modern
stone-work in the county--given to us by Sir Joseph Mickleham--
Mickleham Hall, you know, only two miles from here. He used to
attend morning service here frequently. Died five years ago. Fine
piece of work!"
Maggie looked at it. It was enormous, a huge battlement of a font in
dead white stone with wreaths of carved ivy creeping about it.
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