her.

"Which way?" she asked, demurely, but a little sharp.

"It's all off," said Alvina, breaking into a nervous laugh.

"Why? What has happened?"

"Nothing has happened. I can't stand him."

"Why?--suddenly--" said Miss Pinnegar.

"It's not sudden," laughed Alvina. "Not at all. I can't stand him. I
never could. And I won't try. There! Isn't that plain?" And she went
off into her hurried laugh, partly at herself, partly at Arthur,
partly at Albert, partly at Miss Pinnegar.

"Oh, well, if you're so sure--" said Miss Pinnegar rather bitingly.

"I _am_ quite sure--" said Alvina. "I'm quite certain."

"Cock-sure people are often most mistaken," said Miss Pinnegar.

"I'd rather have my own mistakes than somebody else's rights," said
Alvina.

"Then don't expect anybody to pay for your mistakes," said Miss
Pinnegar.

"It would be all the same if I did," said Alvina.

When she lay in bed, she stared at the light of the street-lamp on
the wall. She was thinking busily: but heaven knows what she was
thinking. She had sharpened the edge of her temper. She was waiting
till tomorrow. She was waiting till she saw Albert Witham. She
wanted to finish off with him. She was keen to cut clean through any
correspondence with him. She stared for many hours at the light of
the street-lamp, and there was a narrowed look in her eyes.

The next day she did not go to Morning Service, but stayed at home
to cook the dinner. In the evening she sat in her place in the
choir. In the Withams' pew sat Lottie and Albert--no Arthur. Albert
kept glancing up. Alvina could not bear the sight of him--she simply
could not bear the sight of him. Yet in her low, sweet voice she
sang the alto to the hymns, right to the vesper:

"Lord keep us safe this night
Secure from all our fears,
May angels guard us while we sleep
Till morning light appears--"

As she sang her alto, and as the soft and emotional harmony of the
vesper swelled luxuriously through the chapel, she was peeping over
her folded hands at Lottie's hat. She could not bear Lottie's hats.
There was something aggressive and vulgar about them. And she simply
detested the look of the back of Albert's head, as he too stooped to
the vesper prayer. It looked mean and rather common. She remembered
Arthur had the same look, bending to prayer. There!--why had she not
seen it before! That petty, vulgar little look! How could she have
thought twice of Arthur. She had made a f