“May I read it?”
“I can read you the bit which refers to Frances.”
“Dear me, is it private? After two days’ acquaintance! I always say, Nina, that you dash into intimacies quicker than any woman I’ve ever known.”
“How preposterous you are, Bertie. Of course there’s nothing private in Mrs. Mulholland’s letter. I merely thought it might bore you. Please do read it, if you are so insatiably curious. It always amuses me to see the delightful way in which you poke and ferret about into everything, like a beloved bloodhound.”
“Bloodhounds don’t ferret,” remarked Mrs. Tregaskis, taking Mrs. Mulholland’s voluminous epistle from her friend’s hand with an air of great annoyance.
The air of annoyance was merged into astonishment, not unmixed with amusement, as she perused the four large pages covered with thick, black writing:
“The Convent,
“Friday.
“My dear Mrs. Severing,
“You must forgive me not answering your little note at once, but we only came out of Retreat this morning. I was sorry to hear of your sudden departure, and also not to have said good-bye, but perhaps we shall see you down here again one of these days. Your little friend has been very happy, and has edified us all during the Retreat. I am sure she must be very pleasing to our dear Lord. I hear that the Prior is very much pleased with her indeed, and hopes to receive her very soon now. What a joy that must be to you! since I could not help feeling, dear Mrs. Severing, that you were very much with us in spirit.
“Mère Pauline has told me of the great joy which has come to you in your dear son’s return, and you must please accept my very warmest congratulations. There may still be dark days ahead of you, but while there’s life there’s hope.