She proceeded to rattle off half a dozen well-worn objections to the monastic life. Her words were her own; but underneath their freshness and liveliness Antonio recognized the stock tirade against monks and nuns which he had heard twenty times in England. He listened patiently till she had finished. Then he said:
"We are not thinking of the same thing. Such monks and nuns as you are scorning do not exist. They are figments of your controversialists. They are stuffed figures, set up like skittles to be knocked down again. May I speak quite candidly?"
"Speak quite candidly, or do not speak at all," she answered.
"And personally?"
"The more personally the better."
"Then listen. You remember our first Wednesday—the day you and I and young Crowberry went all through the monastery?"
"You mean the day you brought me the little blue bird with the orange-colored tail?"
"You remember," continued Antonio, "how I showed you a monk's cell. That cell was mine. I lived in it for seven years. You pulled open all the drawers and looked inside the cupboard."
Isabel flushed crimson, and demanded indignantly:
"How did I know it was yours?"