"I'm much obliged to you," he said.

Again she gazed at him, now plainly perplexed.

"What are you giving me?"

"I mean what I say," he answered. "I am obliged to you for telling me
things I didn't know. And I appreciate--your asking me to stay."

She was sitting upright now, her expression changed, her breath came more
rapidly, her lips parted as she gazed at him.

"Do you know," she said, "I haven't had anybody speak to me like that
for four years." Her voice betrayed excitement, and differed in tone,
and she had cast off unconsciously the vulgarity of speech. At that
moment she seemed reminiscent of what she must once have been; and he
found himself going through an effort at reconstruction.

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like a woman," she answered vehemently.

"My name is John Hodder," he said, "and I live in the parish house, next
door to the church. I should like to be your friend, if you will let me.
If I can be of any help to you now, or at any other time, I shall feel
happy. I promise not to preach," he added.

She got up abruptly, and went to the window. And when she turned to him
again, it was with something of the old bravado.