Their dull clothes mixed with the shadows,
the old oak, the worn stone, and the voice of the organ was like the
voice of multitudes of sad souls. Very soon the music ceased with a
kind of sob and the verger, with his skirts flapping round his feet,
came to warn those isolated human creatures that they must face the
world again.
They rose obediently, but Henrietta did not move, as though she alone
of that company had not learnt the lesson of necessity. But the altar
lights were now extinguished, the skirted verger was approaching her,
and Charles forestalled him. He murmured, 'Henrietta!'
She looked up without surprise. 'What time is it?' she asked.
'Seven o'clock.'
She rose, picking up her bag.
'Let me have that,' he said.
'No, no,' she answered absently, and then, 'Is it really seven?'
'Yes, there's the clock striking now.' The sound of the seven notes
whirred and then clanged above their heads. 'We must go,' he said.
'They're locking up.' The air was cold and damp after the warmth of
the church and Henrietta stood, shivering a little and looking round
her.
'I'm hungry,' Charles Batty said. 'Will you come and have dinner with
me?'
'No,' she replied, 'I shall stay here.'
'How long for?'
'I don't know.' And sharply she turned on him and asked, 'What are you
doing here?'
'I come here sometimes. There are concerts.'
'You'll be late, then, if you are going to dine.'
'I know, but I'm hungry.
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