She walked quickly to the familiar church, and reached it just as the doors were being closed.
Of all the congregation she probably was the one who went through the service most mechanically.

Not a word reached her understanding.
Sitting, standing, or on her knees, she wore the same preoccupied look, with ever and again a slight smile or a movement of the lips, as if she were recalling some conversation of special interest.
Last Sunday she had had an adventure, the first of any real moment that had befallen her in London.

She had arranged to go with Miss Eade on a steamboat up the river.

They were to meet at the Battersea Park landing-stage at half-past two.

But Miss Eade did not keep her appointment, and Monica, unwilling to lose the trip, started alone.
She disembarked at Richmond and strayed about for an hour or two, then had a cup of tea and a bun.