“And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. CHAPTER XXVII. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him. She had looked forward to an explanation. The dinner was stranger than she had ever anticipated. After all, Hilary must be near returned by now. She turned her cheek to the cold sill; and by and by the sill grew warm and wet with tears. Furiously, she dashed his hands away. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. All right really. . ’ ‘Aye, more’s the pity. If you don’t eat humble-pie now you may live to fare worse later.
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