She uttered a little ejaculative note of joy and rushed to the bed. “Indeed,” she said, “it was very fortunate that I should have met you this afternoon. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. She winced as he thrust the fact at her, was about to answer, and checked herself. “It is not that. “They say there are spots on the sun. She fell into a pleasant dream of positions and work. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. ’ Gerald hissed in a doubtful breath.
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