"'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. At any rate she must see me. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. The waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast. "What?… Oh!… Well, good Lord!" He wrenched loose his head and stood up, sending the chair clattering to the floor. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. ’ ‘I thought so,’ Gerald said with satisfaction. Tonight Lucy doled out outré physiological theories of boys and their overactive hormones.
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