ansition from Catholic to Protestant worship had been bridged by a
time of disuse, when there were no services, and the place was used for
storing jars of oil, liqueur, and deck-chairs; the hotel flourishing,
some religious body had taken the place in hand, and it was now fitted
out with a number of glazed yellow benches, claret-coloured footstools;
it had a small pulpit, and a brass eagle carrying the Bible on its back,
while the piety of different women had supplied ugly squares of carpet,
and long strips of embroidery heavily wrought with monograms in gold.

As the congregation entered they were met by mild sweet chords issuing
from a harmonium, where Miss Willett, concealed from view by a baize
curtain, struck emphatic chords with uncertain fingers. The sound spread
through the chapel as the rings of water spread from a fallen stone. The
twenty or twenty-five people who composed the congregation first bowed
their heads and then sat up and looked about them. It was very quiet,
and the light down here seemed paler than the light above. The usual
bows and smiles were dispensed with, but they recognised each other.
The Lord's Prayer was read over them. As the childlike battle of voices
rose, the congregation, many of whom had only met on the staircase, felt
themselves pathetically united and well-disposed towards each other.
As if the prayer were a torch applied to fuel, a smoke seemed to rise
automatically and fill the place with the ghosts of innumerable services
on innumerable Sunday mornings at home. Susan Warrington in particular
was conscious of the sweetest sense of sisterhood, as she covered her
face with her hands and saw slips of bent backs through the chinks
between her fingers. Her emotions rose calmly and evenly, approving of
herself and of life at the same time. It was all so quiet and so good.
But having created this peaceful atmosphere Mr. Bax suddenly turned the
page and read a psalm. Though he read it with no change of voice the
mood was broken.

"Be merciful unto me, O God," he read, "for man goeth about to devour
me: he is daily fighting and troubling me. . . . They daily mistake my
words: all that they imagine is to do me evil. They hold all together
and keep themselves close. . . . Break their teeth, O God, in their
mouths; smite the jaw-bones of the lions, O Lord: let them fall away
like water that runneth apace; and when they shoot their arrows let them
be rooted out."

Nothing in Susan's exper