‘And now, monsieur le major—’ ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns. Miss Miniver looked over her glasses at her friend almost balefully. “Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘You have papers of identity, for the Mother Abbess told me so. She made me over. How you dress when you're loafing will be no concern of mine; but fresh twill or Shantung, when you dine with me, collar and tie. Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. That would not help her. It was an awful moment—so awful, that every other feeling except deep interest in the scene seemed suspended.
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