I could not talk of Pickering with Bates—the masked beggar!—in the room, so I changed the subject.
“I suppose you impose penances, prescribe discipline for the girls at St. Agatha’s,—an agreeable exercise of the priestly office, I should say!”
His laugh was pleasant and rang true. I was liking him better the more I saw of him.
“Bless you, no! I am not venerable enough. The Sisters attend to all that,—and a fine company of women they are!”
“But there must be obstinate cases. One of the young ladies confided to me—I tell you this in cloistral confidence—that she was being deported for insubordination.”
“Ah, that must be Olivia! Well, her case is different. She is not one girl,—she is many kinds of a girl in one. I fear Sister Theresa lost her patience and hardened her heart.”
“I should like to intercede for Miss Armstrong,” I declared.
The surprise showed in his face, and I added:
“Pray don’t misunderstand me. We met under rather curious circumstances, Miss Armstrong and I.”
“She is usually met under rather unconventional circumstances, I believe,” he remarked dryly. “My introduction to her came through the kitten she smuggled into the alms box of the chapel. It took me two days to find it.”