" "It is not Jack's voice," rejoined Mrs. ‘Poor Hilary. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. She knew that the stairs they had to negotiate to the vestry were extremely narrow, and she had made her plans. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm. She watched her friend rise and go towards her affianced husband, a look of mischief in her face. . Stanley, consenting with dignity. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth.
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