Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. As Jack conjectured, no one was there, and, though a lamp was burning on a stand, they decided upon proceeding without it. The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. These were presently joined by a regiment of foot.
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