“Oh, God!” she said at last, “how I wish I had been taught to pray!” Part 3 She had some idea of putting these subtle and difficult issues to the chaplain when she was warned of his advent. The coach was slowing down, and he realised that they had arrived in Golden Square. Consternation gripped him. The place was crowded, and the people about her were almost equally made up of very goodlooking and enthusiastic young people and a great variety of Goopes-like types. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. This was unscrupulous, he admitted, because he had no intention of following through on the seductive promise in his conduct. So while he talked to this girl of work and freedom, his slightly protuberant eyes were noting the gracious balance of her limbs and body across the gate, the fine lines of her chin and neck. " "What is this to me, Sir?" said Trenchard, cutting him short. I am sorry to seem to hurt you, but all I say is for your good. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. Remember what the conjuror said.
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