"I haven't become religious now," Muriel pointed out. "I hate religious people. Though that's a silly thing to say, because I am very 'religious' in a different sense. I tell you, I suddenly believed that Christianity was true; as soon as I believed that I wanted to devote myself to the service of Christianity. I thought that the life of a sister-of-mercy was the life for a Christian woman. I realized that all my theories about human nature were worth nothing without Divine grace to achieve them." Mary had a flash of illumination. "Then it was from religious motives that you suddenly became so much quieter and sweeter. I was congratulating myself on effecting that change. Dear child, I wish that I could be given an assurance like yours." "I always pray that you may receive it." "Thank you, dear child. That is very kind and thoughtful of you. Of course, I can't argue with you about your resolve. I have really no right to argue on such a subject. I only hope that you will find as much happiness in the life you have chosen for yourself as you might have found in marriage. Which I'm sure you would have found," her mother added. In the autumn Muriel entered the Community she had chosen, and the widow was left alone in the big house on Campden Hill. _Chapter Seven_ THE GRANDMOTHER _Chapter Seven: The Grandmother_ Mary's visitors had left early that December afternoon, and when François came in to turn on the light and draw the curtains, she told him that she would ring for him presently, because she had a slight headache and preferred to sit for a while quietly _dans la crépuscule_. The butler, who had a grave, ecclesiastical dignity, bowed and left Madame to her choice. In the door he turned for a moment and in a tone which deprecated anything that might savor of officiousness in the suggestion begged leave to ask if Madame would like her maid summoned. She shook her head, and he withdrew with another bow that sought to express his perfect comprehension of Madame's desire to be left entirely alone.