It was John at the door. She was ashamed of her costume then, but there was no running away. “Yes, of course, come in,” she cried, trembling all over, half afraid to be seen, and yet proud too of her beauty and her splendour. When he entered she was laughing nervously and was about to say, “See, this has happened before----” But he saw nothing unusual, and she was disappointed and annoyed. Coming in breathless, as if he had been running, he flung himself down on one end of the couch, threw his hat on the other end, and said: “What did I tell you, Glory? That a way would open itself, and it has!” “Really?” “Didn't you think of it when you saw the news in the papers this morning?” “What news?” “That Father Damien is dead.” “But can you--do you really mean that--do you intend----” “I do, Glory--I do.” “Then you didn't get my letter this morning?” “Oh, yes, dear, yes; but you were only thinking for me--God bless you!--that I was giving up a great scene for a little one. But this--this is the greatest scene in the world, Glory. Life is a small sacrifice; the true sacrifice is a living death, a living crucifixion.” She felt as if he had taken her by the throat and was choking her. He had got up and was walking to and fro, talking impetuously. “Yes, it is a great sacrifice I am asking you to make now, dear. That far-off island, the poor lepers, and then lifelong banishment. But God will reward you, and with interest too. Only think, Glory! Think of the effect of your mere presence out there among those poor doomed creatures! A young and beautiful woman! Not a melancholy old dolt like me, preaching and prating to them, but a bright and brilliant girl, laughing with them, playing games with them, making mimicry for them, and singing to them in the voice of an angel. Oh, they'll love you, Glory, they'll worship you--you'll be next to God and his blessed mother with them. And already I hear them saying among themselves: 'Heaven bless her! She might have had the world at her feet and made a great name and a great fortune, but she gave it all up--all, all, all--for pity and love of us!' Won't it be glorious, my child? Won't it be the noblest thing in all the world?” And she struggled to answer, “Yes, no doubt--the noblest thing in all the world!” “Then you agree? Ah, I knew your heart spoke in your first letter, and you wanted to leave London. You shall, too, for God has willed it.” Then she recovered a little and made a nervous attempt to withdraw. “But the church at Westminster?” He laughed like a boy. “Oh, Golightly may have that now, and welcome.” “But the work in London?”