Pausing in front of the
Dacre monument, Joan wondered if the actor of that name, who had
committed suicide in Australia, and whose London address she remembered
had been Dacre House just round the corner, was descended from the
family; thinking that, if so, it would give an up-to-date touch to the
article. She had fully decided now to write it. But Mary Stopperton
could not inform her. They had ended up in the chapel of Sir Thomas
More. He, too, had "given up things," including his head. Though Mary
Stopperton, siding with Father Morris, was convinced he had now got it
back, and that with the remainder of his bones it rested in the tomb
before them.
There, the little pew-opener had left her, having to show the
early-comers to their seats; and Joan had found an out-of-the-way pew
from where she could command a view of the whole church. They were
chiefly poor folk, the congregation; with here and there a sprinkling of
faded gentility. They seemed in keeping with the place. The twilight
faded and a snuffy old man shuffled round and lit the gas.
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