’ A gleam of rare humour slid into Charvill’s chest. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. . . ‘But how did she meet such a person in a convent?’ ‘He was wounded and came there for sanctuary,’ Gerald explained, adding almost through his teeth. He must have been following her from room to room, silent in his stockinged feet. These were the Master of the Mint, Van Galgebrok, and Mrs. ’ Gerald dropped down to join her just as her hand came up, clutching the handle. “But it is so difficult——” “Not at all,” he answered eagerly.
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