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It was not until the morning of the fifth day that the constant vigil was broken. . ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. To return was impossible,—to raise himself certain destruction. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. Between her and the fair, far prospect of freedom and self-development manoeuvred Mr. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. “Is that plain?” she asked. Among the commercial enticements McClintock found a real letter.
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