’ ‘Now why didn’t I make that connection?’ Gerald asked of the air in a tone of regret. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his.
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