Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. They were delighted. “Tell him that he is mad. He suspected a trap. ’ ‘It is so in a convent, you see,’ she explained airily. “I say, Vee. He was snoring stupidly. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. S. She turned the gas up in her little sitting-room, and sank wearily into an easy chair.
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