And as to the rest, her imagination was full of the most feverish and fantastic shapes. Since her talk with Polly the world had seemed to her a mere host of buzzing enemies. All the persons concerned passed through her fancy with the mask and strut of caricature. The little mole on Sister Angela's nose--the slightly drooping eyelid that marred the Reverend Mother's left cheek--the nasal twang of the orphans' singing--Father Bowles pouncing on a fly--Father Leadham's stately ways--she made a mock or an offence out of them all, bitterly chattering and drawing pictures with herself, like a child with a grievance. And then on the top of these feelings and exaggerations of the child, would return the bewildering, the ever-increasing trouble of the woman. She sprang up. "If I could--if I _could_! Then it would be we two together--against the rest. Else--how shall I be his wife at all?" She ran into the study. There on the shelf beside Helbeck's table stood a little Manual of Catholic Instruction, that she knew well. She turned over the pages, till she came to the sections dealing with the reception of converts. How often she had pored over them! Now she pored over them again, twisting her lips, knitting her white brows. "No adult baptized Protestant ('Am I a Protestant?--I am baptized!') is considered to be a convert to the Catholic Church until he is received into the Church according to the prescribed rite ('There!--it's the broken glass on the wall.--But if one could just slip in--without fuss or noise?') ... You must apply to a Catholic priest, who will judge of your dispositions, and of your knowledge of the Catholic faith. He will give you further instruction, and explain your duties, and how you have to act. When he is satisfied ('Father Leadham!--satisfied with me!'), you go to the altar or to the sacristy, or other place convenient for your reception. The priest who is with you says certain prayers appointed by the Church; you in the meantime kneel down and pray silently ('I prayed when papa died.'"--She looked up, her face trembling.--"Else?--Yes once!--that night when I went in to prayers.) 'You will then read or repeat aloud after the priest the Profession of Faith, either the Creed of Pope Pius IV'--(That's--let me see!--that's the Creed of the Council of Trent; there's a note about it in one of papa's books." She recalled it, frowning: "I often think that we of the Liberal Tradition have cause to be thankful that the Tridentine Catholics dug the gulf between them and the modern world so deep. Otherwise, now that their claws are all pared, and only the honey and fairy tales remain, there would be no chance at all for the poor rational life.") She drew a long breath, taking a momentary pleasure in the strong words, as they passed through her memory, and then bruised by them.