Mrs Sindlesham raised her brows. "As you please, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan, with affected indifference; "but I'm not going to hunt the deer for another to eat the ven'son, depend on 't. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. It was hard to part with romance, but she had never thirsted so keenly to go on with her University work in her life as she did that day. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland.
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