Yes, he would need a wife now that he was rich. But he must be cautious. At fifty-three one had no time to indulge in mistakes.
He tried to pretend to himself that he was being merely practical and not at all sentimental, but at the same time he experienced again that pleasant tickling sensation of satisfaction over his interest in her. It was no more than the shadow of desire. It flattered him that there was a certain . . . well, grossness . . . in the feeling. He had a most stimulating awareness of adventure.
The door opened and fat Maria came in, looking, decided Mr. Winnery, as if she had swallowed a canary. That, thought Winnery, is because she has been guilty of a dereliction of duty and expects a scolding.
"Buon giorno," he said brightly. "Buon giorno."
Maria looked somewhat astonished. Feeling a little encouraged to gossip, she asked if Signor Winnery had heard the latest about Signorina Spragg. Miss Annie Spragg was being buried today and the burial was causing the local church authorities a great deal of trouble and uncertainty. The question was a purely technical one. No one could decide whether the miraculous scars should be officially recognized as a miracle and the body of Miss Annie Spragg considered as that of a potential saint or whether she ought to be treated simply with the conventional respect due a devout follower of the Church. There was even a party among the more bigoted older priests which held that there was not even any proof that she was a Roman Catholic and that it was not proper to defile consecrated ground
