155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. For a long time neither spoke again. There you will be, in an inner temple. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. "No, Sir, it's quite possible—more than possible.
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