Rowland's purposes were, however, defeated in a manner as unexpected as appalling. ‘Tell me about the convent? Were you happy there? They were kind to you, the nuns?’ ‘Oh, but yes. . ’ ‘Oh yes, or walked through the walls, I dare say. By his side sat a remarkably stout dame, to whom he paid as much attention as it was in his iron nature to pay. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. She flew up the covered stairs and knocked upon his door.
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