"Yes," Lynette whispered back, shuddering. The dry, warm, hard hand felt about for her cold one, and found and took it. Lips came close to her ear, and breathed:
"Dearie, this grand young gentleman you're engaged to be married to ..."
"Yes?"
"Has he been told? Does he know?"
The long, plain face was close to Lynette's. In the greying light she could see it clearly. Her heart beat in heavy, sickening thuds. Her teeth chattered, and whole body shook as if with ague, as she faltered:
"The Mother says—he is not to be told."
There was a dead silence. It was as if an iron shutter had suddenly been pulled down and clamped home between them. Then Sister Tobias said in a tone devoid of all expression:
"The Mother knows best, dearie, of course. Lie down and go to sleep."
Then silence settled back upon the Convent bombproof, but sleep did not come to everybody there.