He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. Gosse! Dieu du ciel, but how did he get into the convent? She had perforce to obey his command, for speech was impossible. Like most officers, he’d had it especially made, for a man who loved danger had need of a precision instrument of defence. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. He was a thin old man, a wreck in a ruined body, but nothing would induce him to stand in any other way than as stiffly erect as possible like the soldier he had always been, even though he was obliged to lean on his silver-handled cane to do so. But she did not talk readily, and in order to say something she plunged a little, and felt she plunged. “A bad thing for me when that legacy came.
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