“Who are you?” She asked innocently. ’ ‘It is so in a convent, you see,’ she explained airily. ” “Why not? Your spirits at least should be good. Wild allowed you to have your fine clothes again, or you might have been taken in a still more disgraceful garb. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. . There was a gentle rustling of skirts. During this colloquy, Jack had contrived unobserved to put on the hood and cloak, and being about the size of the rightful owner, presented a very tolerable resemblance to her.
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