“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.”
“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 lifelong voyage in a small boat.”
“Isn't the house rather empty?”