” “Never,” he exclaimed vehemently. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. Without Jack, it was certain that she faced danger if she went outside Golden Square. ‘I went to see him because I thought he ought to know about you, having already been imposed upon by our friend Gosse.
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