Ten minutes later, standing once more on the floor of the church, she said to John, smiling:
“I suppose Mr. Elmore considers your mind, and my mind, and, for the matter of that, the mind of every Catholic in a kind of strait-jacket?”
“You’re not far beside the mark,” returned John laughing.
He went with her to the door. A moment she stood there; and, turning, looked back into the church.
“After all, it’s sad,” she said.
“I know,” replied John.
“It’s—it’s the sense of loss.”
“I know,” said John again, “the sense of loss, in spite of the faint fragrance that still lingers.”
She nodded, then turned towards the sunshine without.
“By the way,” said she suddenly reminiscent, “I left a note for you at the White Cottage. My grandmother would be very pleased if you and Mr. Elmore would lunch with us tomorrow at one o’clock. She would like to thank you in person for your intervention on our behalf the other day. Can you come?”