Richard's Sabbaths had become days of dismal¹ torpor². A year ago, on first arriving in London, he had projected a series of visits to churches famous either for architectural beauty or for picturesque³ ritual. A few weeks, however, had brought tedium⁴. He was fundamentally irreligious, and his churchgoing proceeded from a craving⁵, purely⁶ sensuous⁷, which sought gratification in ceremonial pomps, twilight⁸ atmospheres heavy with incense⁹ and electric with devotion, and dim perspectives of arching stone. But these things he soon discovered lost their fine savour by the mere¹⁰ presence of a prim¹¹ congregation secure in the brass¹² armour¹³ of self-complacency; for him the worship was spoilt by the worshippers, and so the time came when the only church which he cared to attend—and even to this he went but infrequently, lest use should stale its charm—was the Roman Catholic oratory¹⁴ of St. Philip Neri, where, at mass, the separation of the sexes struck a grateful note of austerity, and the mean appearance of the people contrasted admirably with the splendour of the priests' vestments, the elaborate music, and the gilt¹⁵ and colour of altars. Here deity¹⁶ was omnipotent¹⁷ and humanity abject¹⁸. Men and women of all grades, casting themselves down before the holy images in the ecstatic abandonment of repentance¹⁹, prayed side by side, oblivious²⁰ of everything save their sins and the anger of a God. As a spectacle the oratory was sublime²¹.  
He visited it about once a month. The mornings of intervening Sundays were given to aimless perambulation of the parks, desultory²² reading, or sleep; there was nothing to prevent him leaving town for the day, but he was so innocent of any sort of rural lore²³ that the prospect²⁴ of a few hours in the country was seldom enticing²⁵ enough to rouse sufficient energy for its accomplishment²⁶. After dinner he usually slept, and in the evening he would take a short walk and go early to bed. For some reason he never attempted to work on Sundays.
 
It had rained continuously since he left Parson's Green station on the previous night, till midday on Sunday, and in the afternoon he was lounging half asleep with a volume of verse on his knee, considering whether or not to put on his hat and go out, when Lily entered; Lily was attired²⁷ for conquest, and with her broad velvet²⁸ hat and pink bows looked so unlike a servant-girl that drowsy²⁹ Richard started up, uncertain what fairy was brightening his room.
 
 
"Please, sir, there's a young gentleman as wants to see you."
 
"Oh!—who is it?" No one had ever called upon him before.
 
"I don't know, sir; it's a young gentleman."
 
The young gentleman was ushered³¹ in. He wore a new black frock coat, and light grey trousers which fell in rich folds over new patent-leather boots. The shortcomings of his linen³², which was dull and bluish in tint³³, were more than atoned³⁴ for by the magnificence of a new white silk necktie with heliotrope

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