Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. We are nuns. Do you think she does?” Ann Veronica picked among her salad with a judicial expression of face. One hour later she had gone back to the mission—without the salt. He had been baptized there. He was mad. You must know that. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him again.
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