Page:The Wings of the Dove (New York, Charles Scribners Sons, 1902), Volume 2.djvu/403

 in a few minutes, his idea was really—as it struck him—consecrated: he was, pushing in, on the edge of a splendid service—the flocking crowd told of it—which glittered and resounded, from distant depths, in the blaze of altar-lights and the swell of organ and choir. It didn't match his own day, but it was much less of a discord than some other things actual and possible. The Oratory, in short, to make him right, would do. 393