her； which she enjoyed。 It was a dark enrichening influence she
had not known before。 She did not think of her cousin。 But she
was startled when his hands moved。
She wished he would not say the responses so plainly。 It
diverted her from her vague enjoyment。 Why would he obtrude； and
draw notice to himself？ It was bad taste。 But she went on all
right till the hymn came。 He stood up beside her to sing； and
that pleased her。 Then suddenly； at the very first word； his
voice came strong and over…riding； filling the church。 He was
singing the tenor。 Her soul opened in amazement。 His voice
filled the church！ It rang out like a trumpet； and rang out
again。 She started to giggle over her hymn…book。 But he went on；
perfectly steady。 Up and down rang his voice； going its own way。
She was helplessly shocked into laughter。 Between moments of
dead silence in herself she shook with laughter。 On came the
laughter； seized her and shook her till the tears were in her
eyes。 She was amazed； and rather enjoyed it。 And still the hymn
rolled on； and still she laughed。 She bent over her hymn…book
crimson with confusion； but still her sides shook with laughter。
She pretended to cough； she pretended to have a crumb in her
throat。 Fred was gazing up at her with clear blue eyes。 She was
recovering herself。 And then a slur in the strong； blind voice
at her side brought it all on again； in a gust of mad
laughter。
She bent down to prayer in cold reproof of herself。 And yet；
as she knelt； little eddies of giggling went over her。 The very
sight of his knees on the praying cushion sent the little shock
of laughter over her。
She gathered herself together and sat with prim； pure face；
white and pink and cold as a Christmas rose； her hands in her
silk gloves folded on her lap； her dark eyes all vague；
abstracted in a sort of dream； oblivious of everything。
The sermon rolled on vaguely； in a tide of pregnant
peace。
Her cousin took out his pocket…handkerchief。 He seemed to be
drifted absorbed into the sermon。 He put his handkerchief to his
face。 Then something dropped on to his knee。 There lay the bit
of flowering currant！ He was looking down at it in real
astonishment。 A wild snort of laughter came from Anna。 Everybody
heard： it was torture。 He had shut the crumpled flower in his
hand and was looking up again with the same absorbed attention
to the sermon。 Another snort of laughter from Anna。 Fred nudged
her remindingly。
Her cousin sat motionless。 Somehow he was aware that his face
was red。 She could feel him。 His hand； closed over the flower；
remained quite still； pretending to be normal。 Another wild
struggle in Anna's breast； and the snort of laughter。 She bent
forward shaking with laughter。 It was now no joke。 Fred was
nudge…nudging at her。 She nudged him back fiercely。 Then another
vicious spasm of laughter seized her。 She tried to ward it off
in a little cough。 The cough ended in a suppressed whoop。 She
wanted to die。 And the closed hand crept away to the pocket。
Whilst she sat in taut suspense； the laughter rushed back at
her； knowing he was fumbling in his pocket to shove the flower
away。
In the end； she felt weak； exhausted and thoroughly
depressed。 A blankness of wincing depression came over her。 She
hated the presence of the other people。 Her face became quite
haughty。 She was unaware of her cousin any more。
When the collection arrived with the last hymn； her cousin
was again singing resoundingly。 And still it amused her。 In
spite of the shameful exhibition she had made of herself； it
amused her still。 She listened to it in a spell of amusement。
And the bag was thrust in front of her； and her sixpence was
mingled in the folds of her glove。 In her haste to get it out；
it flipped away and went twinkling in the next pew。 She stood
and giggled。 She could not help it： she laughed outright； a
figure of shame。
〃What were you laughing about； our Anna？〃 asked Fred； the
moment they were out of the church。
〃Oh； I couldn't help it；〃 she said； in her careless；
half…mocking fashion。 〃I don't know why Cousin Will's
singing set me off。〃
〃What was there in my singing to make you laugh？〃 he
asked。
〃It was so loud；〃 she said。
They did not look at each other； but they both laughed again；
both reddening。
〃What were you snorting and laughing for； our Anna？〃 asked
Tom； the elder brother； at the dinner table； his hazel eyes
bright with joy。 〃Everybody stopped to look at you。〃 Tom was in
the choir。
She was aware of Will's eyes shining steadily upon her；
waiting for her to speak。
〃It was Cousin Will's singing；〃 she said。
At which her cousin burst into a suppressed； chuckling laugh；
suddenly showing all his small； regular； rather sharp teeth； and
just as quickly closing his mouth again。
〃Has he got such a remarkable voice on him then？〃 asked
Brangwen。
〃No； it's not that；〃 said Anna。 〃Only it tickled me……I
couldn't tell you why。〃
And again a ripple of laughter went down the table。
Will Brangwen thrust forward his dark face； his eyes dancing；
and said：
〃I'm in the choir of St。 Nicholas。〃
〃Oh； you go to church then！〃 said Brangwen。
〃Mother does……father doesn't；〃 replied the youth。
It was the little things； his movement； the funny tones of
his voice； that showed up big to Anna。 The matter…of…fact things
he said were absurd in contrast。 The things her father said
seemed meaningless and neutral。
During the afternoon they sat in the parlour； that smelled of
geranium； and they ate cherries； and talked。 Will Brangwen was
called on to give himself forth。 And soon he was drawn out。
He was interested in churches； in church architecture。 The
influence of Ruskin had stimulated him to a pleasure in the
medieval forms。 His talk was fragmentary； he was only half
articulate。 But listening to him； as he spoke of church after
church； of nave and chancel and transept； of rood…screen and
font； of hatchet…carving and moulding and tracery； speaking
always with close passion of particular things； particular
places； there gathered in her heart a pregnant hush of churches；
a mystery； a ponderous significance of bowed stone； a
dim…coloured light through which something took place obscurely；
passing into darkness： a high； delighted framework of the mystic
screen； and beyond； in the furthest beyond； the altar。 It was a
very real experience。 She was carried away。 And the land seemed
to be covered with a vast； mystic church； reserved in gloom；
thrilled with an unknown Presence。
Almost it hurt her； to look out of the window and see the
lilacs towering in the vivid sunshine。 Or was this the jewelled
glass？
He talked of Gothic and Renaissance and Perpendicular； and
Early English and Norman。 The words thrilled her。
〃Have you been to Southwell？〃 he said。 〃I was there at twelve
o'clock at midday； eating my lunch in the churchyard。 And the
bells played a hymn。
〃Ay； it's a fine Minster； Southwell； heavy。 It's got heavy；
round arches； rather low； on thick pillars。 It's grand； the way
those arches travel forward。
〃There's a sedilia as well……pretty。 But I like the main
body of the church……and that north porch……〃
He was very much e