“I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. “My dear Anna,” he answered. ” “Yes, you have a sharp mind. It's infernally provoking. “We’ve never known anyone who can play like you, Lucy. I spent this afternoon in detention.
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