So far she had not heard the sound of his voice. “I suppose delusions are not uncommon to patients in his condition. Groups of boys took to ogling her as she walked frenetically from class to class. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. The doctor smoked his pipe thoughtfully. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun.
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