“You asked me in to tea,” he protested. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. I was ready to wager that your name would have marched with one of them. ‘And how is it that you have acquired this garb of a religieuse?’ he asked as she fitted the veil over her head. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays. . “I saw—they knocked off your fetters yesterday. “And for me it has been Pride and Pride and Pride! “I am the prodigal daughter. Now when I tell you exactly the truth, you will also not believe me. ” “You could never be that,” he answered, “but you are at least more serious than usual.
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