tittered, but he did not notice it.

Sylvia knew that he was looking at her, but she never looked at him.
She sat soberly waving a little brown fan before her face; the light
curls stirred softly. She wondered what he thought of them; if he
considered them too young for her, and silly; but he did not see them
at all. He had no eye for details. And neither did she even hear his
fine tenor, still sweet and powerful, leading all the other male
voices when the choir stood up to sing. She thought only of Richard
himself.

After meeting, when she went down the aisle, several women had spoken
to her, inquired concerning her health, and told her, with wondering
eyes, that she looked well. Richard was far behind her, but she did
not look around. They very seldom accosted each other, unless it was
unavoidable, in any public place. Still, Sylvia, going out with
gentle flounces of her green shot silk, knew well that Richard's eyes
followed her, and his thought was close at her side.

After she got home from meeting that Sunday, Sylvia Crane did not
know how to pass the time until the evening. She could not keep
herself calm and composed as was her wont on the Sabbath day. She
changed her silk for a common gown; she tried to sit down and read
the Bible quietly and with understanding, but she could not. She
turned to Canticles, and read a page or two. She had always believed
loyally and devoutly in the application to Christ and the Church; but
suddenly now, as she read, the restrained decorously chanting New
England love-song in her maiden heart had leaped into the fervid
measures of the oriental King. She shut the Bible with a clap. "I
ain't giving the right meaning to it," she said, sternly, aloud.