“Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her hand —“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after all, Roddy was right! “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— “I could still go home!” She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. “The walk has given me an appetite, and I do not feel like waiting till five o’clock. ” His father interjected. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. ’ The gentleness in his voice nearly overset her. ‘But I ain’t been idle, miss, I swear it. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered.
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