"Won't you sit down, please?" she asked quietly. "We understand. Arthur suspicioned — at least, he hoped — you'd come."
The two visitors sat down on their side of the table, their eyes fixed on the cloth.
"Norma," Puckston said in a slow, dull monotone, "I've got to explain." -
"That's not necessary, Arthur." "I've got to explain."
With great care Puckston slowly hitched his chair round. He too looked down. His right hand, blue-veined, automatically brushed and brushed and brushed at the table-cloth.
"What I've got to explain, sir, is that we only opened the 'ouse tonight because I'd promised the Choral Society they could have the two parlours for their practice after chapel. Because it was hymns, you see. We thought that was only right and proper. Because it was hymns. And Mr. Bradley, from the Chapel, he said so too.
"Of course, we didn't go out there. But Norma and me, we reckoned it would be right and proper if we sat out in the passage, there, and listened to the hymns through the wall. And we did. And I was feeling fine, I was feeling just as fine as I could be, until it came to that part of the hymn about while the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high.
"And I don't know," he went on, shaking his head while he brushed and brushed at the table, "I can't just rightly say, what made me make such a fool of myself. Breaking down like that, and coming in 'ere so they wouldn't know about it. I didn't know I was so soft I reckon it was just that part of the hymn, that's all."
Both of his visitors, one of whom could not bear this, made an instinctive movement to get up.
"No!" said Puckston, and stretched out his hand. "Don't go, if I've not offended you. Sit down. I was hoping you'd come."