‘Let me tell you,’ went on the nun severely, ‘it would have been better for you if you had taken the veil. . “John’s here. But it was under false names, so I dare say it ain’t valid. This whole affair is truly my fault. If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. But perhaps he was right not to tell you the truth. . And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone.
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