"Just now," Alicia said, "the shadows under your eyes are brushed too deep."
"I don't believe I sleep well in a dormitory."
"Horrible! All the little privacies of life—don't you miss them?"
"I never had them, my dear—I never had them. Life has never given me the luxury of curtains—I don't miss them. An occasional blind—a closed door—and those we got even at the Institution. The decencies are strictly conserved, believe me."
"One imagines that kind of place is always clean."
"When I have time I think of Number Three, Lal Behari's Lane, and believe myself in Paradise. The repose is there, the angels also—dear commanding things—and a perpetual incense of cheap soap. And there is some good in sleeping in a row. It reminds one that after all one is very like other women."
"It wouldn't convince me if I were you. And how did the Sisters receive you—with the harp and the psaltery?"
"That was rather," said Hilda gravely, "what I expected. On the contrary, they snubbed me—they really did. There were two of them. I said, 'Reverend ladies, please be a little kind. Convents are strange to me; I shall probably commit horrible sins without knowing it. Give me your absolution in advance—at least your blessing."
"Hilda, you didn't!"
"It is delightful to observe the Mother Abbess, or whatever she is, disguising the fact that she takes any interest in me. Such diplomacy—funny old thing."