"Alas, sir, I am no nearer the heavenly kingdom than I was before I sickened of the earthly one. I am very tired of the pomps and vanities, but I cannot entertain the hope of finding an alternative pleasure in sermons and long prayers, or the pious company Lady Huntingdon assembles every Thursday evening."
"If you have renounced the world of pleasure—the rest will follow."
"You think a woman must live in some kind of fever? I own that Lady Fanny Shirley seems always as busy and full of engagements as if she were at the top of the ton. She flies from one end of London to the other to hear a new preacher, and makes more fuss about the opening of some poor little chapel in the suburbs, than the Duchess of Buccleuch makes about an al fresco ball that costs thousands. There is the chairman's knock. Perhaps you will scarce care to meet my lively friend, Mrs. Granger, in your sad circumstances."
"Not for the world. Adieu, madam. I shall go to Mortlake to-morrow to look at my poor Lucy's resting-place, and shall start the next day for Bath to see my son; and thence to Bristol, where I hope to find Mr. Wesley."
He bent down to kiss her hand, so thin and so alabaster white, and said in a low voice, with his head still bent—
"Dare I hope that my madness of the past is pardoned?"
"The past is past," she answered coldly. "The world has changed for both of us. Adieu."
He left her, passing Mrs. Granger in the hall.
"You have admitted a sneaking Methodist," cried Patty, "after denying yourself to all the people of fashion in London."