The rest, too, would be pleasant after
her long walk from Westminster. She would find a secluded seat in one of
the high, stiff pews, and let the atmosphere of the place sink into her.
And then the pew-opener had stolen up unobserved, and had taken it so for
granted that she would like to be shown round, and had seemed so pleased
and eager, that she had not the heart to repel her. A curious little old
party with a smooth, peach-like complexion and white soft hair that the
fading twilight, stealing through the yellow glass, turned to gold. So
that at first sight Joan took her for a child. The voice, too, was so
absurdly childish--appealing, and yet confident. Not until they were
crossing the aisle, where the clearer light streamed in through the open
doors, did Joan see that she was very old and feeble, with about her
figure that curious patient droop that comes to the work-worn. She
proved to be most interesting and full of helpful information. Mary
Stopperton was her name. She had lived in the neighbourhood all her
life; had as a girl worked for the Leigh Hunts and had "assisted" Mrs.
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