” “I will think of it,” she promised. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. ’ ‘Mercy me,’ gasped the nun. He returned, sitting on the floor beside the couch adoring her and stroking her bare arms. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way. "A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured. We all get deceived sometimes.
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