e had been a perfected saint, and
they would have knocked down any man who had dared to take him at his
Sunday word. The Colonel's placid, dimpled wife was there, fanning
herself with the slowly serene manner of her youth; and two benches were
full of children. On the second bench was Honor, and the man of the
world watched her closely in his quiet, unobserved way. This was nothing
new: Wainwright spent his life in watching people. He had studied
hundreds of women in the same way, and he formed his conclusions with
minutest care. He judged no one by impulse or intuition, or even by
liking or disliking. What persons _said_ was not of the slightest
importance to him in any way: he noted what they _did_. The service was
in progress, and Honor was down upon her knees. He saw her confess her
sins; he saw her bow her head to receive the absolution; he saw her
repeat the psalms; he watched her through every word of the Litany; he
heard her sing; and he noted her clasped hands and strong effort of
recollection throughout the recital of the Commandments. Then he settled
himself anew, and began to watch her through the sermon. He had seen
women attentive through the service before now: they generally became
neutral during the sermon. But this girl never swerved. She sat with
folded arms looking at the preacher fixedly, a slight compression about
the mouth showing that the attention was that of determination. The
preacher was uninteresting, he was tautological; still the girl followed
him. "What a narrow little round of words and phrases it is!" thought
the other, listening too, but weary. "How can she keep up with him?" And
then, still watching her, he fell to noticing her dress and attitude.
Poor Honor wore a gown of limp black alpaca, faithful, long-enduring
servant of small-pursed respectability; on her head was a small black
bonnet which she had fashioned herself, and not very successfully. A
little linen collar, a pair of old gloves, and her prayer-book completed
the appointments of her costume. Other young girls in the congregation
were as poorly dressed as she, but they had a ribbon, a fan, an edge of
lace here and there, or at least a rose from the garden to brighten
themselves withal; this girl alone had nothing. She was tall and well
rounded, almost majestic, but childishly young in face. Her dark hair,
which grew very thickly--Wainwright could see it on the temples--seemed
to have been until recently kept short, since th