“What is he like?” asked Joan. “What have you been doing?” he asked her.!

“How does one know when one is serving God?” she asked after a pause, apparently rather of herself than of Joan. “It seems so difficult.” “No,” she answered. “I’ve seen all the horror and cruelty I want to for the rest of my life.”

There, the little pew-opener had left her, having to show the early-comers to their seats; and Joan had found an out-of-the-way pew from where she could command a view of the whole church. They were chiefly poor folk, the congregation; with here and there a sprinkling of faded gentility. They seemed in keeping with the place. The twilight faded and a snuffy old man shuffled round and lit the gas. They dined in the great restaurant belonging to the hotel. He was still vastly pleased with himself as he marched up the crowded room with Joan upon his arm. He held himself upright and talked and laughed perhaps louder than an elderly gentleman should. “Swaggering old beggar,” he must have overheard a young sub. mutter as they passed. But he did not seem to mind it. Her bright eyes had caught sight of the ring upon Joan’s hand. She touched it with her little fragile fingers.