She did not learn the kind of looks she had been bestowing upon him at a convent. Then she passed from the room on the arm of General Lord Charvill, chatting animatedly to him. He knew she had been weeping. "How so?" asked Wild, curiously. ’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. The general did what he might to hush it up, and paid handsomely to manage it, I daresay. My friends consider it wonderfully faithful.
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