Perhaps an historical novel in the Thackeray vein?
She could see her heroine walking up the aisle on the arm of her proud old soldier father.

Later on, when her journalistic position was more established, she might think of it.

It was still quite early.

There would be nearly half an hour before the first worshippers would be likely to arrive: just time enough to jot down a few notes.

If she did ever take to literature it would be the realistic school, she felt, that would appeal to her.