As it was, Destiny had chosen for her
that she should be the wife of a rector, and had now further decreed that
a country rectory should be the background to her existence. She rapidly
made up her mind that her surroundings did not call for exploration; Noah
had predicted the Flood, but no one expected him to swim about in it.
Digging in a wet garden or trudging through muddy lanes were exertions
which she did not propose to undertake. As long as the garden produced
asparagus and carnations at pleasingly frequent intervals Mrs. Gaspilton
was content to approve of its expense and otherwise ignore its existence.
She would fold herself up, so to speak, in an elegant, indolent little
world of her own, enjoying the minor recreations of being gently rude to
the doctor's wife and continuing the leisurely production of her one
literary effort, _The Forbidden Horsepond_, a translation of Baptiste
Leopoy's _L'Abreuvoir interdit_. It was a labour which had already been
so long drawn-out that it seemed probable that Baptiste Lepoy would drop
out of vogue before her translation of his temporarily famous novel was
finished. However, the languid prosecution of the work had invested Mrs.
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