figure.
To-night, however, because of the fog, Rosamund expected to find few
people.

One bell was mournfully ringing as she drew near and presently saw a
faint gleaming of light through long narrow windows of painted glass.
"Ping, ping, ping!" It was a thin little summons to prayer. She passed
through a gateway in some railings of wrought ironwork, crossed a
slippery pavement and entered the church.

It was already more than three parts full, and there was a large
proportion of men in the congregation. A smart-looking young man,
evidently a gentleman, who was standing close to the door, nodded to
Rosamund and whispered:

"I'll put you into Lady Millingham's seat. You'll find Mrs. Chetwinde
and Mr. Darlington there."

"Oh, I'd rather--" began Rosamund.

But he had already begun to move up the aisle, and she was obliged to
follow him to a pew close to the pulpit, in which were seated a smartly
dressed woman with a vague and yet acute expression, pale eyes and
a Burne-Jones throat; and a thin, lanky and immensely tall man of
uncertain age, with pale brown, very straight hair, large white ears,
thick ragged eyebrows, a carefully disarranged beard and mustache, and
an irregular refined face decorated with a discreet but kind expression.
These were Mrs. Willie Chetwinde, who had a wonderful house in Lowndes
Square, and Mr. Esme Darlington, bachelor, of St. James's Square, who
was everybody's friend including his own.

Rosamund just recognized them gravely; then she knelt down and prayed
earnestly, with her face hidden against her muff. She still heard the
little bell's insistent "Ping, ping, ping!" She pressed her shut eyes
so hard against the muff that rings of yellow light floated up in her
darkness, forming, retreating, melting away.

The bell ceased; the first notes of the organ sounded in a voluntary by
Mendelssohn, amiable and charming; the choir filed in as Rosamund rose
from her knees. In the procession the two last figures were Mr. Limer
and Mr.--or, as he was always called in Liverpool, Father--Robertson.

Mr. Limer was a short, squat, clean-shaven but hairy dark man, with
coal-black hair sweeping round a big forehead, a determined face and
large, indignant brown eyes. The Liverpool clergyman was of middle
height, very thin, with snow-white hair, dark eyes and eyebrows, and a
young almost boyish face, with straight, small features, and a luminous,
gentle and yet intense look. He seemed almost to glow, qu