Tales of the Cloister
The girl in the blond wig had drawn herself out of Sister Chrysostom's arms and stood looking at her with a queer smile.
"Well, Helen!" she said, in the most off-hand way imaginable. "What on earth brings you here? Have you shaken the convent? I always thought you would if you got a chance. There isn't much convent fever in our blood!"
She picked up the paint she had been using and got in front of the mirror again. "Who're your friends?" she said, daubing away with her back to us, but looking boldly at us in the glass.
Sister Chrysostom could not speak. I think she felt as if she had been struck. She would have preferred a blow. My big sister came forward—if one could be said to come forward in that space. She smiled as sweetly as if the girl had been the Queen of England.
"I am Mrs. Verbeck," she said, "and this is my little sister May. I am afraid you do not understand your sister's position, Mrs. Bannerton. She has not left the convent; we brought her here for a few moments with you, because she loves you, and has not seen you for so many years, and was willing to undergo a great deal to have another look at you. We must take her away almost immediately. Perhaps you would like to see each other alone."
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