"The nuns of St. Theresa are very strict, I believe, Mr. White," said Miss Bolton.
"Yes," he made reply; "I have fears for the Mrs. Wardens and Mrs. Principals who at their age undertake it."
They had got home, and White politely rang the bell.
"Younger persons," said he tenderly, "are too delicate for such a sacrifice."
Louisa was silent; presently she said, "And what will you be, Mr. White?"
"I know not," he answered; "I have thought of the Cistercians; they never speak."
"Oh, the dear Cistercians!" she said; "St. Bernard wasn't it?—sweet, heavenly man, and so young! I have seen his picture: such eyes!"
White was a good-looking man. The nun and the monk looked at each other very respectfully, and bowed; the other pair went through a similar ceremony; then it was performed diagonally. The two ladies entered their home; the two gentlemen retired.
We must follow the former upstairs. When they entered the drawing-room they found their mother sitting at the window in her bonnet and shawl, dipping into a chance volume in that unsettled state which implies that a person is occupied, if it may be so called, in waiting, more than in anything else.
"My dear children," she said as they entered, "where have you been? the bells have stopped a good quarter of an hour: I fear we must give up going to church this morning."