His question was not answered until they had passed many lamp-posts,
and then as they retraced their steps she said:
"Travelling about with an opera company do you think I could go to
Mass, above all to Communion?"
"But you'll be on tour; nobody will know."
"What shall I do when I return to London?"
"Why look so far ahead?"
"All my friends know that I go to Mass."
"But you can go to Mass all the same and communicate."
"But if you were my lover?"
"Would that make any difference?"
"Of course it would make a difference if I were to continue to go to
Mass and communicate; I should be committing a sacrilege. You cannot
ask me to do that."
Ulick did not like the earnestness with which she spoke these words.
That she was yielding, however, there could be little doubt, and
whatever doubt remained in his mind was removed on the following day
in the park under the lime-trees, where they had been sitting for
some time, talking indolently--at least, Ulick had been talking
indolently of the various singers who had been engaged. He had done
most of the talking, watching the trees and the spire showing between
them, enjoying the air, and the colour of the day, a little heedless
of his companion, until looking up, startled by some break in her
voice, he saw that she was crying.
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