One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers. Water poured into her eyes, nose, and mouth in a torrent from which she had to turn and wheeze. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir. Of course. You’ll end there one day, mark my words. She heard him come in; the light burned on. The slack cloth of her habit caught on a curlicue in the carved back of the pew in front, pulling her suddenly about. They ought to put a lamp. Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightly lifted eyebrows. "Confusion!" he cried; "something has happened.
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