” They were in the elder Widgett girl’s bedroom; Hetty was laid up, she said, with a sprained ankle, and a miscellaneous party was gossiping away her tedium. Overjoyed beyond measure at having vanquished this apparently-insurmountable obstacle, Jack darted through the door. ‘That rascally knave sent you to become a French nun?’ Looking positively terrified, the girl nodded dumbly. Of course, I don't believe she's what you would call flush. "I say," retorted Edgeworth Bess, with a very unfeminine imprecation, "I shan't stand any more of that nonsense. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. The thought allured him, and therein lay the danger. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours.
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