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’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. What is it? Good God!” An unhappy little smile parted her lips. Gosse! Dieu du ciel, but how did he get into the convent? She had perforce to obey his command, for speech was impossible. During the foregoing occurrences a dead calm prevailed.
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