The vestry was perhaps the only room in the place, except her allotted curtained off portion of the dormitory chamber that served for her cell—and she could not scandalise the nuns by having a man in there, be he never so much a servant—where Melusine could be sure of privacy. He saw that she was tense. She stood looking down upon him with dilated eyes. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. Turning now, and running down the terrace. Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside. There it was—to be borrowed.
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