"Mrs. Bailey, Jr., looked pale and pretty sitting there."
So the chapel fulfilled its functions.
It was a very ornamental private chapel. Mrs.
Bailey, Sr., had had it pretty well peppered with family crests and quarterings, authentic and imaginary.
Mrs. Bailey, Jr., looked pale and pretty sitting there, the English sunlight filtered through stained glass; the glass also was thoroughly peppered with insignia of the House of Bailey. Rich carving, rich colouring, rich people!—what more could sticklers demand for any exclusive sanctuary where only the best people received the Body of Christ, and where God would meet nobody socially unknown.
Clive arrived from Italy after the funeral. The meeting between him and his wife was faultless. He hung about the splendid country place for a while, and spent much time inside the chapel, and also outside, where he directed the planting of some American evergreens, hemlock, spruce, and white pine.
But the aromatic perfume of familiar trees was subtly tearing him to tatters; and there came a day when he could no longer endure it.