"It is well." He drifted away like a stately ship.
Delightful foolery! I saw the Jesuit, and moved toward him.
"Disciple of Loyola, hast thou the ten of hearts?"
"My hearts number nine, for I have lost one to the gay Columbine."
"I breathe! Thou art not he whom I seek."
We separated. I was mortally glad that Columbine had made a mistake.
The women always seek the monk at a masquerade; they want absolution for the follies they are about to commit. A demure Quakeress touched my sleeve in passing.
"Tell me, grave monk, why did you seek the monastery?"
"My wife fell in love with me,"—gloomily.
"Then you have a skeleton in the clothes-press?"