The Resurrection Sermon
115
somewhere in Mayfair and Spence was at the office of The Daily Wire preparing for Monday's paper — he wheeled a small writing-desk up to the fireside and began a long letter of news and thankfulness to Helena.
He pictured the pleasant dining-room at Walktown, the Sunday night's supper, — an institution at the Vicarage after the labours of the busiest day in the week, — with a guest or two perhaps.
He knew they would be thinking of him, as he of them, and pictured the love-light in his lady's sweet, calm eyes.
