Mrs. Thornton laughed lightly, and Despard looked at her with a smile.
“I’m afraid your thoughts wander,” she said, lightly, “as mine do. There is no excuse for you. There is for me. For you know I’m like Naaman; I have to bow my head in the temple of Baal. After all,” she continued, in a more serious voice, “I suppose I shall be able some day to worship before my own altar, for, do you know, I expect to end my days in a convent.”
“And why?”
“For the purpose of perfect religious seclusion.”
Despard looked at her earnestly for a moment. Then his usual smile broke out.
“Wherever you go let me know, and I’ll take up my abode outside the walls and come and look at you every day through the grating.”
“And would that be a help to a religious life?”
“Perhaps not; but I’ll tell you what would be a help. Be a Sister of Charity. I’ll be a Paulist. I’ll devote myself to the sick. Then you and I can go together; and when you are tired I can assist you. I think that idea is much better than yours.”
“Oh, very much, indeed!” said Mrs. Thornton, with a strange, sad look.
“I remember a boy and girl who once used to go hand in hand over yonder shore, and—” He stopped suddenly, and then hastily added, “and now it would be very sad, and therefore very absurd, in one of them to bring up old memories.”