No absorption in prayer on _his_ part baffles me.

He is leaning his elbow on his knee, and wearily biting the top of his prayer-book.

He returns my look by another, which, though wordless, is eloquent.

It says, in raised eyebrow and drooped mouth, "Is that all?
I do not think much of him ?" The church is full and hot.

The windows are open, indeed, but only the infinitesimally small chink that church-windows ever do open.