It was almost the first suggestion that she had made, and Frances divined in her an intense anxiety lest she should unwittingly distress the novice by proposals or requests contrary to the mysterious rule of which she knew so little.
“No, of course not,” she added almost immediately, her eyes on her sister’s face. “I expect you’re not allowed to have visitors up to your cell.”
There was only the faintest sound of hope underlying the suggestion now.
“I’m afraid not,” said Frances rather mournfully. “But there’s nothing to see, really. It’s only a little cubicle in a long dormitory.”
She wondered rather nervously immediately afterwards whether she ought to have given even that information. There was so much that might not be discussed outside the community, and it was so strange to feel such restriction in her intercourse with Rosamund.
At four o’clock Frances was called away to Vespers, and tea was brought to the visitors, and at five Lady Argent said gently:
“My dears, I am going to make a little visit to the chapel, and in about twenty minutes’ time I am afraid our cab will be here. Will you come and fetch me?”
“Let’s go into the chapel together for a minute,” whispered Frances, when the last quarter of an hour had sped past them.
They knelt at the back of the little chapel, Frances still conscious of exultation in the joint sacrifice that both were making. She prayed ardently for her sister and for herself.
The door opened behind them, and the ubiquitous Mrs. Mulholland sank heavily upon her knees beside Frances.