You did not learn that in a convent. Brendon. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. The old-fashioned dress, with its series of ruffles and printed flowers, ballooned treacherously, revealing her well-turned leg in silk stockings, as it snapped against her body as a mould. ‘What is this fate?’ ‘Un mariage of no distinction. ‘I just don’t understand you, Gerald.
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