She might have omitted the “Roman” but for her certainty of Mrs. Mulholland’s complete invulnerability.
In effect, Mrs. Mulholland merely retorted in unabashed assent:
“Quite so, quite so. You’ll excuse me saying that I was already aware of that, Mrs. Tregaskis, quite aware of it. But I always say just what I think—no respecter of persons, so to speak. Say what you think and think what you say is my motto—always has been.”
Mrs. Tregaskis felt rather as though she were listening to a caricature of herself.
“Now I dare say you have a prejudice against religious orders—many people have, I know—quite good people, mind you, who only need a little enlightenment.”
“On the contrary, I can assure——”
“Never mind, never mind!” cried Mrs. Mulholland with breezy inattention. “I know all about it, and you must remember that I’m a woman of the world, Mrs. Tregaskis, though I do live in a convent, and can see your point of view as well as ours. It’s all quite natural, and I can assure you that a great many people have felt just as you do. Especially about foreign Orders—French and the like, you know. Not got quite our ideas about fresh air, for instance, or a daily bath—that sort of thing.”
Bertha drew a deep breath.
“I dare say not,” she said in a louder voice than usual, “but I’ve had plenty of truck with convents and the like in my time, you know—in Italy, and so on. Naturally, one has no insular prejudices of an early Victorian kind, after knocking about the world as I’ve done.”
She laughed heartily, but briefly, being well aware that any opening would be seized upon by Mrs. Mulholland to make her own voice heard once more.