Of late she had been constantly busy with the books that stood to the
right of Helbeck's table. She could not keep herself away from them,
although the signs of tender and familiar use they bore, were as thorns
in her sore sense. Even his books were better friends to him than she!
And especially had she been dipping into those "Lives of the Saints" that
Helbeck read habitually day by day; of which he talked to young Williams
with a minuteness of knowledge that he scarcely possessed on any other
subject--knowledge that appeared in all the details of the chapel
painting. And on one occasion, as she turned over the small, worn volumes
of his Alban Butler, she had come upon a certain passage in the life of
St. Charles Borromeo:

"Out of a most scrupulous love of purity ... neither would he speak to
any woman, not even to his pious aunt, or sisters, or any nun, but in
sight of at least two persons, and in as few words as possible."

The girl flung it down. Surrounded as she often was by priests--affronted
by those downcast eyes of the scholastic--the passage came upon her as an
insult. Her cheeks burnt. Instinctively she showed herself that evening
more difficult and exacting than ever with the man who loved her, and
could yet feed his mind on the virtues of St. Charles Borromeo.

* * * * *

Nevertheless, she was often puzzled by the manner and demeanour of the
young Jesuit.

During his work at the chapel frescoes certain curious transformations
seemed to have passed over him. Or was it merely the change of dress?