Furiously, she dashed his hands away. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. He would know the truth then once and for all. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. Wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder. ’ ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said the nun, evidently not mollified, but she was forestalled. Recovery impossible.
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