“To church—the church with a spire at the end of the parade,” said Lovibond.
“St. Thomas’s—I know it,” said Davy.
St. Thomas’s was half way up to Castle Mona.
The men strolled out at the window, which opened on to the warm, soft turf of the Head, and lay down there with their faces to the sun-lit bay.
“Who preached?” said Davy, clasping hands at the back of his head.
“A young woman,” said Lovibond.
Davy lifted his head out of its socket, “My goodness!” he said.
“Well, at all events,” explained Lovi-bond, “it was a girl who preached to me. The moment I went into the church I saw her, and I saw nothing else until I came out again.”
Davy laughed, “Ay, that’s the way a girl slips in,” said he. “Who was she?”
“Nay; I don’t know,” said Lovibond; “but she sat over against me on the opposite side of the aisle, and her face was the only prayer-book I could keep my eyes from wandering from.”