“I know there was.”
“How do you know?”
“I do know.”
“You must have voted for yourself, then: you can’t know otherwise,” said Sister Philippa, scornfully.
Sister Roberga fairly screamed, “I didn’t, you vile wretch!” and went exceedingly red in the face.
“Sister Roberga,” said I—
“Don’t you interfere!” shrieked Sister Roberga, turning fiercely on me. “You want a chance to show your power, of course. You poor, white-faced, sanctimonious creature, only just promoted, and that because every body voted for you, thinking you would be easily managed—just like a bit of putty in any body’s fingers! And making such a fuss, as if you were so humble and holy, professing not to wish for it! Faugh! how I hate a hypocrite!”
I stood silent, feeling as if my breath were taken away.
“Yes, isn’t she?” cried Sister Philippa. “Wanting Sister Ismania to be preferred, instead of her, after all her plotting with Mother Gaillarde and Sister Margaret! I can’t bear folks who look one way and walk another, as she does. I shouldn’t wonder if the election were vitiated,—not a bit!—and then where will you be, Mother Annora?”
“Where you will be, Sister Philippa, until compline,” said a voice behind me, “is prostrate on the chapel floor: and after compline, you will kiss the floor at Mother Annora’s feet, and ask her to forgive you. Sister Roberta, go to the laundry—there is nobody there—and do not come forth till I fetch you. You also, after compline, will ask the Mother’s forgiveness.”