She made a mental note to the effect that she must call on Nellie Jewell’s mother when she got back and see if they couldn’t persuade the girl to become an Associate of the G.F.S. She seemed to be a silly girl, but no doubt something could be done for her.
For the rest of the journey Mrs. Tregaskis dismissed parochial concerns from her mind, and allowed herself the luxury of an uninterrupted hour’s reading of “La vie des Abeilles.” She enjoyed, quite consciously, the sense that this was the first time she had had spare time in which to read it at leisure during the six months she had had the book in hand.
The journey was a long one, and packets of sandwiches were produced on either side of her, but Mrs. Tregaskis always grudged time given to food, and only at the last junction put her head out of the window and allowed herself to drink two cups of very strong tea from the station refreshment-room.
It was nearly six o’clock before she reached, by means of the slowest of cabs, the convent door.
She looked at the unimposing building, high and narrow like the buildings on either side of it, with some contempt. It was not at all picturesque, like the charming convents or monasteries of her experience in Italy and Southern France. Only a modest brass plate on the door and a blue and white figure cut out of what used to be called “transparencies” and pasted against the inside of the glass fan-light, proclaimed the house to be a convent.
Once inside, however, Bertha thought that her surroundings left small room for doubt. The small, dark parlour was hung with highly-coloured devotional pictures, a cheap coloured statuette stood on the mantelpiece and another one on a bracket over the door.
Contrary to the conventual wont, however, Mrs. Tregaskis was not kept waiting. Frances came into the room almost immediately. She did not greet her guardian with any of the timidity which she often displayed, and which Mrs. Tregaskis had half expected.
“Cousin Bertie, I am so glad you’ve come! It was so much easier to talk than to write—you know how bad I am at letters.”
“Your last letter was rather explicit, Francie, my child,” said Bertha drily. “We’ll have a long talk about it to-morrow, but just at present I want to know whether these good nuns are expecting me. I suppose you asked them if I could have a room?”
“Yes. You’ve got the one Mrs. Severing had. You see, the Retreat was over two or three days ago, so most of the visitors have gone. There are only the usual lady boarders left now.”