The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. Lucy stood relieved that she had not messed up the solo. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. "Did you write it?" "No. ’ ‘Merci,’ she sighed and, surrendering at last to his oft-proffered aid, allowed her head to droop onto his chest. Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. It was easy for him to see that she desired to be agreeable to him. Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it. At last he could bear it no longer. Once upon a time she and Roddy had descended thence by the drain-pipe.
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