"I don't think I can," said Alvina.
He seemed rather taken aback.
"Why?" he said. "What stops you?"
"I've so much to do."
He smiled slowly and satirically.
"Won't it keep?" he said.
"No, really. I can't come on Thursday--thank you so much.
Good-night!" She gave him her hand and turned quickly into the shop,
closing the door. He remained standing in the porch, staring at the
closed door. Then, lifting his lip, he turned away.
"Well," said Miss Pinnegar decidedly, as Alvina re-entered. "You can
say what you like--but I think he's _very pleasant_, _very_
pleasant."
"Extremely intelligent," said James Houghton, shifting in his chair.
"I was awfully bored," said Alvina.
They both looked at her, irritated.
After this she really did what she could to avoid him. When she saw
him sauntering down the street in all his leisure, a sort of anger
possessed her. On Sunday, she slipped down from the choir into the
Chapel, and out through the main entrance, whilst he awaited her at
the small exit. And by good luck, when he called one evening in the
week, she was out. She returned down the yard. And there, through
the uncurtained window, she saw him sitting awaiting her. Without a
thought, she turned on her heel and fled away. She did not come in
till he had gone.
"How late you are!" said Miss Pinnegar. "Mr. Witham was here till
ten minutes ago."
"Yes," laughed Alvina. "I came down the yard and saw him. So I went
back till he'd gone."
Miss Pinnegar looked at her in displeasure:
"I suppose you know your own mind," she said.
"How do you explain such behaviour?" said her father pettishly.
"I didn't want to meet him," she said.
The next evening was Saturday. Alvina had inherited Miss Frost's
task of attending to the Chapel flowers once a quarter. She had been
round the gardens of her friends, and gathered the scarlet and hot
yellow and purple flowers of August, asters, red stocks, tall
Japanese sunflowers, coreopsis, geraniums. With these in her basket
she slipped out towards evening, to the Chapel. She knew Mr.
Calladine, the caretaker would not lock up till she had been.
The moment she got inside the Chapel--it was a big, airy, pleasant
building--she heard hammering from the organ-loft, and saw the
flicker of a candle. Some workman busy before Sunday. She shut the
baize door behind her, and hurried across to the vestry, for vases,
then out to the tap, for water. All was warm and still.
It was full early evening. The yellow light streamed through the
side windows, the big stained-glass window at the end was deep and
full of glowing colour, in which the yellows and reds were richest.
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