I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa. ’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. There’s that old gentleman at the end of the table—Bullding his name is. “Indeed, you could have no more faithful friend, you could find no one more anxious to serve you. “Good-looking rascal she met at Worthing.
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