A little table in the window was laden with books grouped at the foot of an immense crucifix, devotional pictures, and slender brackets on which were balanced perilously-poised statuettes plastered the wall, a holy-water stoup slung with rosaries decorated the door, and fragments of dried palm tied with red ribbon hung crosswise over the bed. Below this came yet another crucifix and a large framed scroll-work announcing the reception of Mary-Theresa Aloysia Leaky into the Sodality of the Children of Mary some fifty odd years ago. A bulging curtain in an angle of the wall evidently sheltered Mrs. Mulholland’s wardrobe, of which the surplus appeared to be housed in variously shaped and sized card-board boxes with defective lids, that could be seen under the bed and stacked in corners.
“Sit down,” cried the owner of the room cordially, and thrust upon Mrs. Severing’s notice the small rush chair which was the only one she appeared to possess.
“Miss Grantham won’t mind a seat on the bed.”
“I’m afraid we really mustn’t stay,” began Nina, who had been wearing her celebrated resemblance to a hothouse flower buffeted by rude winds for some time, and was not best pleased at its utter absence of effect.
A bell clanged two strokes and then three. Mrs. Mulholland, who had just sunk heavily on to the foot of the bed, heaved herself up again with an air of startled attention and stood listening.
“There! What did I tell you?” she peremptorily inquired of Frances. “That’s Mother Juliana’s bell, and she won’t be able to hear it. I happen to know that she’s in the chapel at this very moment. I suppose she’s wanted for the parlour again, but evidently the sister doesn’t know she’s in the chapel.”
The bell, regardless of Mrs. Mulholland, inexorably clanged out a second summons similar to the first.
“What’s the use of ringing like that? She can’t hear it if she’s in the chapel. I see what it is—I shall have to go and tell her myself. Dear, dear, this is a business,” said Mrs. Mulholland, opening the door with a careworn expression of importance.
Nina instantly took the opportunity of escaping, and imperatively signed to Frances to do likewise. They followed Mrs. Mulholland down the passage, still listening to the confidences which she imparted over her shoulder in a hoarse, sibilant whisper.
“Mother Juliana is the infirmarian—regular as clockwork as a rule—one always knows just where to find her at this hour. But I happen to know that to-day’s an exception. I happen to know she’s had to make her spiritual reading now, instead of at four o’clock. Nothing very serious, you know, but just a little alteration in the routine, of which I happened to know. Just hark at that bell! Evidently no one knows where to find her. Fortunately, as it chanced, I just happen to know she’s here....”