If there were confusion in his heart which had been innocent of trouble,
what must there have been in hers, that for so long had secretly desired
the dawning of that confusion? And she, too, was very silent.

Passing a church with open door in the outskirts of the village, she
said:

"Don't wait for me--I want to go in here a little."

In the empty twilight within, one figure, a countrywoman in her black
shawl, was kneeling--marvellously still. He would have liked to stay.
That kneeling figure, the smile of the sunlight filtering through into
the half darkness! He lingered long enough to see Anna, too, go down on
her knees in the stillness. Was she praying? Again he had the turbulent
feeling with which he had watched her pluck those flowers. She looked so
splendid kneeling there! It was caddish to feel like that, when she was
praying, and he turned quickly away into the road. But that sharp, sweet
stinging sensation did not leave him. He shut his eyes to get rid of her
image--and instantly she became ten times more visible, his feeling ten
times stronger. He mounted to the hotel; there on the terrace was his
tutor. And oddly enough, the sight of him at that moment was no more
embarrassing than if it had been the hotel concierge. Stormer did not
somehow seem to count; did not seem to want you to count him. Besides,
he was so old--nearly fifty!

The man who was so old was posed in a characteristic attitude--hands in
the pockets of his Norfolk jacket, one shoulder slightly raised, head
just a little on one side, as if preparing to quiz something. He spoke
as Lennan came up, smiling--but not with his eyes.