John had started, thinking of Jinny Jones, Golly's deserted and self-immolated friend.
"It is an uncommon name," he stammered—"for a monastery, I mean."
"He is or was an uncommon man!" said the Superior gravely. "But," he added resignedly, "we cannot pick and choose our company here. Most of us have done something and have our own reasons for this retreat. Brother Polygamus escaped here from the persecutions of his sixth wife. Even I," continued the Superior with a gentle smile, putting his feet comfortably on the mantelpiece, "have had my little fling, and the dear boys used to say—ahem!—but this is mere worldly vanity. You alone, my dear son," he went on with slight severity, "seem to be wanting in some criminality, or—shall I say?—some appropriate besetting sin to qualify you for this holy retreat. An absolutely gratuitous and blameless idiocy appears to be your only peculiarity, and for this you must do penance. From this day henceforth, I make you doorkeeper! Go on with your shoveling at present, and shut the door behind you; there's a terrible draught in these corridors."
For three days John Gale underwent an agony of doubt and determination, and it still snowed in Bishopsgate Street.
On the fourth evening he went to Brother Bones.
"Would you like to have an evening out?"
"I would," said Brother Bones.
"What would you do?"
"I would go to see my remaining sister." His left eyelid trembled slowly in his cadaverous face.
"But if you should hear she was ruined like the other? What would you do?"