He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. Mike was drinking a cup of black coffee. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. Vaguely she heard the distinctive sound of male voices as she saw Gosse dive towards the fateful pew. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. And yet, when you offered to help, it was what is to come that I had in mind. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch.
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