” “You are really going on the stage, then?” he said slowly. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. “A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!. But—It’s just this: who was to be hurt?” “I wish no one had to be hurt,” said Ann Veronica. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him.
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