THE QUALITIES OF IGNATIA
In amazement, John put out his hand. He touched her to see if she was real. Her hand answered. She caught his finger. Then she let it fall.
"Are you sorry?" she whispered.
He looked up at the image of St. Anthony, then back at her; around the church, then back once more at her.
"Where have you come from?" he asked.
"From home--from London."
"When?"
"I arrived last night."
"Alone?"
"No! No! With the Crossthwaites."