If the Nun obliged him at all in this way, she chose the difficult method of irony—in which not her greatest admirer could claim that she was very subtle.
"My dear Harry, I quite understand your not calling. How could you think of me when you were quite wrapped up in Vivien Wellgood? I was really glad!"
Now that Harry had come, he found himself delighted with his visit.
"Country air's agreeing with you, Doris. You look splendid." His eyes spoke undisguised admiration.
"Thank you, Harry. I know you thought me good-looking once." The Nun was meek and grateful.
Harry laughed, by no means resenting the allusion. That had been an illness, a curative process, also—though her curative measures had been rather too summary for his taste.
"Whose peace of mind are you destroying down here?"
"I've a right to destroy peace of mind if I want to. It's not as if I were engaged to be married—as you are. I think Jack Rock's in most danger—or perhaps your father."
"The pater inherits some of my weaknesses," said Harry. "Or shares my tastes, anyhow."
"Yes, I know he's devoted to Vivien."