For quite a long time he had believed that that was why they called it Passion Week.
She moaned "Oh, Walter--don't!" as if he had hurt her, while she repressed the play of a little, creeping, curling, mundane smile.
If he would only leave her! But, as they crossed to the curbstone, he changed over, preserving his proper place.

He leaned to her with the indestructible attention of a lover.

His whole manner was inimitably chivalrous, protective, and polite.
Anne hardened her heart against him.

At the church gate she turned and faced him coldly.
"If you're not going in," said she, "you needn't come any further." He glanced at the belated group of worshippers gathered before the church door, and became more than ever polite and chivalrous and protective.
"I must see you safely in," he said, and took up his stand beside her on the mat.
Her eyes rested on him for a second in reproach, then dropped behind the veil of their lids.

In another moment he would have to go.