Altogether it was a rather humiliating business.
So that old bigot was the Van Horne girl's "uncle." It hardly seemed possible that she, who appeared so refined and ladylike when he met her at the parsonage, should be a member of that curious company.

When he rose to speak he had seen her in the front row, beside the thin, middle-aged female who had entered the chapel with Captain Hammond and with her.

She was looking at him intently.

The lamp over the speaker's table had shone full on her face and the picture remained in his memory.
He saw her eyes and the wavy shadows of her hair on her forehead.
He stepped off the platform, across the road, out of the way of homeward-bound Come-Outers, and stood there, thinking.

The fog was as heavy and wet as ever; in fact, it was almost a rain.