"Dropped your sixpence in the pond, Miss Vintry?" the Nun asked.
Isobel turned round sharply.
"Because—I mean—you're not looking very cheerful."
Isobel's eyes hardened a little.
"Have you been there long?"
"I saw you were crying, if that's what you mean. I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. People should cry in their own rooms if they want to keep it quiet."
"Oh, never mind; it doesn't matter whether you saw or not. Every woman is entitled to cry sometimes."
"I don't cry myself," observed the Nun, "but of course a great many girls do."
"I daresay I shouldn't cry if I were the great Miss Doris Flower."
The Nun gurgled. That ebullition could usually be brought about by any reference to the greatness of her position, not precisely because the position was not great—rather because it was funny that it should be. She sat down beside Isobel.