But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. He appeared to be a stranger to the prisoner, and the sole motive of his visit, curiosity. ” “I can’t be portentous, dear, when you’re about. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. “And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. Taber and no one comment upon it. “Then why the devil,” he demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” He became radiant with anger.
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