“I wish you’d taken up a more dignified profession. There really doesn’t seem to be anything for you to do now that isn’t rather low.”
“I’m afraid I like doing low things, Mother. But I really don’t know what I’m going to do when I leave Gillingham’s. It’s funny—but my life seems to stop at Christmas. I can’t look any further. When I first went into the works I was always making plans for what I’d do when I came out of them. But now I can’t think of anything. Well, anyhow, I’ve got more than three months yet—there’ll be time to think of something before then. Did you know that I start my holiday next week?—Ten whole, giddy days—think of that!”
“Shall you be going away?”
“No, I don’t think so. A man I was with at Winchester asked me to come and stop with his people. But he lives in Scotland, and I can’t afford the journey. Besides it wouldn’t be worth it just for a week.”
“I thought you said you’d got ten days.”
“Yes—but I’m going to spend four of them at Thunders Abbey near Brighton. Father Luce thought it would be a good idea if I went to a retreat.”
“Oh, Gervase!—is it a monastery?”
“The very same. It’s the chief house of the Order of Sacred Pity.”
“But, my dear—are you—oh, you’re not going to become a monk?”
“No fear—I’m just going into retreat for four days, for the good of my soul.”