Frances gazed at her in an agony. What further delay was this?
Suddenly she understood that her habit was still tucked up over her petticoat as it had been while she swept the corridor.
She caught at the folds round her waist and pulled them down, her hands shaking uncontrollably.
Sœur Louise’s hand was actually on the parlour-door now.
Suddenly she turned to the novice and whispered huskily:
“N’oubliez pas votre Ave Maria.”
Frances stared at her for an instant and then put her hand across her eyes.
She never knew what it was that she said.
The next moment the door was open and she was in the parlour, with Rosamund.
Neither of them knew how long that first eager clasp endured, neither was in the least conscious of the presence of Lady Argent, gazing, already tearful, out of the window.