She suddenly caught Mrs. Smart’s hand and pressed it through the damp little glove. She knew that Mrs. Smart would be surprised—she had never been demonstrative to her before.... She moved to her part of the room, three only of her class were present, and to these were added two small boys from another division. “Now, children,” said Mr. Smart’s cheerful voice (he always spoke to boys as though he were luring animals into a cage), “let us start with hymn No. 436, shall we?” After the hymn, a prayer, and then, for an hour that subdued, restrained hum which belongs to the Sunday School only; being religious as well as disciplined, persuasive as well as obedient. Katherine now was very proud—as she said: “Well, Robin, and what did Moses do then?” she was thinking—“But he must come to me—that’s fair. It was not my fault. He blamed me first for not speaking, and afterwards when I did speak.... Besides, if it’s all over and finished, why should he mind?” She looked very young as she sat there, her mouth hard and set and her eyes full of trouble. Her sensation was as though she had been suddenly marooned; the desolation, the terror, the awful loneliness came, as the evening fell, creeping up towards her. “Suppose he never makes it up—Suppose he goes away and leaves me.” She caught her hands tightly together on her lap and her breath suddenly left her. “Yes, Johnny. His name was Aaron. That’s right.” The ordeal was over; she was hurrying back through the dusk to the lighted house. She went up again to her room, and sat down again by the window. She listened. The house was very still, but she thought that, perhaps, he would guess that she was here, in her bedroom, and would come up. She wished that her heart would stop beating so that she might hear the better. She listened to every sound, to distant voices, to the whimper of rain upon the window, to the sharp crack of some shutting door. Her whole mind now was concentrated upon his coming: her eyes left the window and turned to the door. She waited.... Quite suddenly, as though someone else had commanded her, she began to cry. She did not move her hands to her face, but little dry sobs shook her body. She hated herself for her weakness, and then that very contempt broke her down completely, so that with her hands pressed against her face, desolately and almost, it might seem, ironically, she wept. Through her crying she heard the door open, and, looking up, saw her mother there. Mrs. Trenchard closed the door very carefully. “Why, Katherine!” she said in a whisper, as though this were a matter simply between the two of them. “I came to see,” said Mrs. Trenchard, “whether you weren’t coming in to tea. The Drakes are here.”