Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets. Her first orders were to summon the rest of her servants to make immediate preparations for her departure for Lancashire. ‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome. It filled her with indefinable fear. ‘Well, that depends. I’m a little tired.
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