Manning, Lady Palsworthy’s nephew, a tall young man of seven-and-thirty with a handsome, thoughtful, impassive face, a full black mustache, and a certain heavy luxuriousness of gesture. At last she glanced at a little clock in the corner of the room, and sprang to her feet. “I remember it very well indeed. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. The thought of going back!—the thought of the unknown out there!—" with a tragic gesture toward the east.
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