He had already surrendered her prayer-book, tucking it gently under her arm.
"You'll be all right when you get in, won't you ?" he said encouragingly.
"Please go," she whispered.
"Do I jar, dear ?" he asked sweetly.
"You do, very much." "I'm so sorry.

I won't do it again." But his whispered vows and promises belied him, battling with her consecrated mood.

She felt that his innermost spirit remained in its profanity, unillumined by her rebuke.
Once more she set her face, and hardened her heart against him, and removed herself in the silence and isolation of her prayer.
Through the closed door there came the rich, confused murmur of the Confession.

He saw her lips curl, flower-like, with emotion, as her breath rose and fell in unison with the heaving chant.

He watched her with a certain reverence, incomprehensibly chastened, till the door opened, and she went from him, moving down the lighted aisle with her remote, renunciating air.
The door was shut in Majendie's face, and he turned away, intending to kill, to murder the next hour at his club.
Anne was self-trained in the habit of detachment.