Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. “Yes, I see that. ” She took the pocket-book and looked up at him with a little impulsive movement. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. “I don’t have time for this. I believe I’m the only sane member of the family left. ’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. “I was lonely.
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