"You don't mean it, Kate?" said he, delighted. "Ay, but I do. Although you refused to go to chapel with me."
They went to church together, and Mrs. Gaunt's appearance there created no small sensation. She was conscious of that, but hid it, and conducted herself admirably. Her mind seemed entirely given to the service, and to a dull sermon that followed.
But at dinner she broke out, "Well, give me your church for a sleeping draught. You all slumbered, more or less: those that survived the drowsy, droning prayers, sank under the dry, dull dreary discourse. You snored, for one."
"Nay, I hope not, my dear."
"You did, then, as loud as your bass fiddle."
"And you sat there and let me!" said Griffith, reproachfully.
"To be sure I did. I was too good a wife, and too good a Christian, to wake you. Sleep is good for the body, and twaddle is not good for the soul. I'd have slept too, if I could; but, with me going to chapel, I'm not used to sleep at that time o' day. You can't sleep, and Brother Leonard speaking."
In the afternoon came Mrs. Gough, all in her best. Mrs. Gaunt had her into her bedroom, and gave her the promised petticoat, and the old Peau de soie gown; and then, as ladies will, when their hand is once in, added first one thing, then another, till there was quite a large bundle.
"But how is it you are here so soon?" asked Mrs. Gaunt.
"Oh, we had next to no sermon to-day. He couldn't make no hand of it: dawdled on a bit; then gave us his blessing, and bundled us out."