"Nobody but Mr. St. Clair"—(he was the old sexton.) "And he has such a bad cold that I took pity on him and sent him home. I promised him I would shut up the church for him—when it was necessary to leave it. He was in no condition to be preached to."
He half expected Diana would propose the shutting up of the church at once, and the ensuing return home of the two people there; but instead of that, she drew up a stool and sat down.
"You will not be able to preach to-day," she remarked.
"Not to much of a congregation," said the minister. "I will do my best with what I have."
"Are you going to preach to me?" said Diana, with a ghost of a smile.
"If you demand it! You have an undoubted right."
Diana sat silent. The warmth of the room was very pleasant. Also the security. Not from the storm, which howled and dashed upon the windows and raged round the building and the world generally; but from that other storm and whirl of life. Diana did not want just yet to be at home. Furthermore, she had a dim notion of using her opportunity. She thought how she could do it; and the minister, standing by, watched her, with some secret anxiety but an extremely calm exterior.
"You must give me the text, Miss Diana," he ventured presently.
Diana sat still, musing. "Mr. Masters," she said at last, very slowly, in order that the composure of it might be perfect,—"will you tell me what is the good of life?"
"To yourself, you mean?"