Perhaps Ruddington is neither Low nor High. He says that one of the times when he saw Susan was in church. But Traxelby isn't his parish: so he must have been hunting Susan, not saving his soul.
I've given up wrestling with the Chouans. I'd forgotten the early part was so dry. Besides, it's nicer to potter about, and think and dream, not to mention that novel-reading is wicked on a Sunday.
Monday morning.
Susan has been difficult again. I'm sorry for her.
Last night she suddenly developed the liveliest interest in dress. In the past she hasn't been a girl to care excessively about it. That's why she has always looked so nice. But, last night, she said:
"I've been thinking, Miss, what ought I to wear the first time I go to see him?"
"You mean, Susan," I answered, "what ought you to wear the first time he comes to see you."
"Yes, Miss," said Susan absently. "I was thinking it would be nice if I had one of those cherry-coloured zephyrs, with elbow sleeves and a white sash."
I smiled.
"Do you think you can depend on yourself not to blush, Susan," I asked, "when he looks at you and speaks to you?"