"My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. ’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. He turned round toward her and found her looking at him and standing very still. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible.
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