n spite of soporifics. Though no sun entered the
room, it was very hot, and the presence of a third person made the air
oppressive.

'Don't you think we might go out for half an hour?' Monica whispered,
when Virginia had pointed to the invalid's closed eves. 'I'm sure it's
very unhealthy for us all to be in this little place.'

I don't like to leave her,' the other whispered back. 'But I certainly
think it would be better for you to have fresh air. Wouldn't you like
to go to church, dear? The bells haven't stopped yet.'

The elder sisters were not quite regular in their church-going. When
weather or lassitude kept them at home on Sunday morning they read the
service aloud. Monica found the duty of listening rather grievous.
During the months that she was alone in London she had fallen into
neglect of public worship; not from any conscious emancipation, but
because her companions at the house of business never dreamt of
entering a church, and their example by degrees affected her with
carelessness. At present she was glad of the pretext for escaping until
dinner-time.

She went forth with the intention of deceiving her sisters, of walking
to Clapham Common, and on her return inventing some sermon at a church
the others never visited. But before she had gone many yards conscience
overcame her. Was she not getting to be a very lax-minded girl? And it
was shameful to impose upon the two after their loving-kindness to her.
As usual, her little prayer-book was in her pocket. She walked quickly
to the familiar church, and reached it just as the doors were being
closed.

Of all the congregation she probably was the one who went through the
service most mechanically. Not a word reached her understanding.
Sitting, standing, or on her knees, she wore the same preoccupied look,
with ever and again a slight smile or a movement of the lips, as if she
were recalling some conversation of special interest.

Last Sunday she had had an adventure, the first of any real moment that
had befallen her in London. She had arranged to go with Miss Eade on a
steamboat up the river. They were to meet at the Battersea Park
landing-stage at half-past two. But Miss Eade did not keep her
appointment, and Monica, unwilling to lose the trip, started alone.

She disembarked at Richmond and strayed about for an hour or two, then
had a cup of tea and a bun. As it was still far too early to return,
she went down to the riverside and seated herself on