Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the cloister.djvu/98

 the whole truth of it. I'd rather have her think me brutal than—well, than have her know the truth. Don't you ever tell her."

Then she began to daub her face again with the paint. The slovenly boy called her, and she pushed me before her out of the room. A short, fat man came hurrying down the passage, and swore when he saw her, and asked what she meant by being late. Her skirts whisked around the corner, and I heard clapping and knew she had gone on the stage.

Well, that is all there was to it.

Grace had helped Sister Chrysostom into the carriage and was telling the coachman to drive fast. We got back to the convent, and Grace left, and Sister Chrysostom and I passed the portress, Sister Vincent, without arousing any suspicion. There were several strangers at the door, and we walked coolly in while Sister Vincent was talking to them. We went into the music-room, and I held the door while Sister Chrysostom took off Grace's things and arranged her own veil. She was talking to herself all the time she did it. She said the same thing twenty times, I should think, like a child learning to spell a word. "It was a just punishment," she said. "I deserve it—I deserve it."