IV
“MAKE haste now with them crevets!”
“For shame, Miss. I shall go straight to the Dean!”
“Cr-r-r-evets!” Miss Sinquier called.
Clad in full black, with a dark felt chapeau de resistance and a long Lancastrian shawl, she felt herself no mean match for any man.
“C-r-r-r,” she growled, throwing back her shawl.
After all, were not the things her own?
She laughed gaily.
“If dear Mrs. Bromley could see me,” she beamed, tucking dexterously away an apostolic spoon.
“‘St. Matthew—St. Mark—St. Luke—St. John—