"But I'm a man," he said, as if that obvious fact shattered her
contention.

"What has that got to do with it?" she said, in obvious surprise.

"Because I do not understand."

For a moment she was silent. He thought he read what was passing through
her mind, as he knew he had read her character. She was one of those
women who must be proud of their men, who love to be ruled, but only
by a conqueror, who delight to sink themselves, but in power, not in
impotence. And now she was confronted by the shipwreck not merely of
her hopes, but also of her belief. She saw a hulk drifting at the mercy
of the waves that, perhaps, would soon engulf it. But she was not only
despairing, she was raging too. For she was a woman with nervous force
in her, and it is force that rages in the moments of despair, seeking,
perhaps unconsciously, some means of action and finding none.

"Why should there not be some hope?" asked Malling, quietly.

"To-morrow is Sunday. If you go to morning church at St. Joseph's, and
then to evening church, you will see if there is any hope."

"To evening church?"

"Yes, yes."

She got up.