The villagers were thronging to church. She walked through the walls. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. Perhaps I ought to have let you order the dinner, but I think I got through it pretty well. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. “Never mind me. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip.
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