I daresay that is one of the names of the nuns in your convent. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too. We all get deceived sometimes. ‘No, but I seen the light, sir. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. Sheppard, meekly. Her eyes were wide and bright. By instinct. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who was enjoying himself.
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