"But I fail to catch the relevance of all this. When I mentioned that I was a second son you—"
"I have had hardly any data to help me in my search," Mr. Bonnithorne continued. He was walking on. "Only a medallion-portrait of the first wife." Mr. Bonnithorne dived into a breast-pocket.
"My brother Paul is living. What possible—"
"Here it is," said Mr. Bonnithorne, and he held out a small picture.
Hugh Ritson took it with little interest.
"This is the portrait of the nun," he said, as his eyes first fell on it, and recognized the coif and cape.
"A novice—that's what she was when Lowther met her," said Mr. Bonnithorne.
Then Hugh Ritson stopped. He regarded the portrait attentively; looked up at the lawyer and back at the medallion. For an instant the strong calm which he had hitherto shown seemed to desert him. The picture trembled in his hand. Mr. Bonnithorne did not appear to see his agitation.
"Is it a fancy? Surely it must be fancy!" he muttered.
Then he asked aloud what the nun's name had been.