She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd. As he looked up at the massive tower, the clock tolled forth the hour of midnight. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. I knew it. . ’ ‘Well, I am glad he did not,’ intervened Lucilla, forestalling another withering comment from the captain. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. Then she dropped the curtain and stepped back into the room. ’ Oh, do they? No kitchen service? No feeding of pigs? It was evident that this woman knew nothing of nuns, if a certain young lady’s artless reminiscences were anything to go by.
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