"And you are very susceptible to atmosphere."
"Too susceptible. That's why I keep so much to myself."
"I know—the cloister."
She looked at him earnestly, even searchingly. He slightly reddened, looked down, said slowly:
"It's not a natural life, the life of the cloister."
"Perhaps you mean to come out."
"I don't know what I mean. I am all at a loose end lately."
"Since when?"
Her eyes were still on him.
"I hardly know. Perhaps hearing about Africa, of that voyage I might have made, unsettled me. I'm a weakling, I'm afraid."