"They must be devoured with curiosity!"
"Well, they ask no questions. One sees an everlasting finger on the lip. It's a little boring. One feels inclined to speak up and say, 'Mesdames, entendez—it isn't so bad as you think.' But then their fingers would go into their ears."
"And the rules, Hilda? I can't imagine you, somehow, under rules."
"I am attached to the rules; I think about them all day long. They make the thing simple and—possible. It is a little like living for the first time in a house all right angles after—after a life-long voyage in a small boat."
"Isn't the house rather empty?"
"Oh, well!"
Alicia put out her hand and tucked an irrelevant bit of lace into Hilda's bosom. "I can tell you who is interested," she cried. "The Archdeacon—the Archdeacon and Mrs. Barberry. They both dined here last night; and you lasted from the fish to the pudding. I got so bored with you, my dear, in your new capacity."
A new ray of happiness came into the smile of the novice. "What did they say? Do tell me what they said."
"There was a difference of opinion. The Archdeacon held that with God all things were possible. He used an expression more suitable to a dinner-party, but I think that is what he meant. Mrs. Barberry thought it wouldn't last. Mrs. Barberry was very cynical. She said anyone could see that you were as emotional as ever you could be."
The eyes of the two women met and they laughed frankly. A sense of expansion came between them, in which for an instant they were silent.