Paris days he had sought relief in walking,—through the Bois de Boulogne, in the Versailles Gardens, down the Avenues des Champs Élysées toward the setting sun, anywhere, everywhere. He had walked by river and wood, but Anne had not been there.
Then the passion had relented. New interests softened the old grievance. Would this be true again?
Annabel came back with her book. It was a tattered copy of the old novel. She proudly accepted Mr. Stanton's invitation to sit down in the red chair. Her apron was very clean; her face bore traces of recent scrubbing.
"Did you ever see a Unitarian, Mr. Stanton?" she asked, thinking that some general remarks would be appropriate.
"Yes."
"I never did," said Annabel in a lowered voice. "They're awful, ain't they? They don't believe into a God, or a heaven, or a hell, or angels, or devils, or nothin'. But they worship idols, they do!"
