CHAPTER II. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. Then it was the woman herself who was changed. But, no. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. “The man who was found dead in your sister’s room was named Hill?” “It is the man,” she answered. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. His demeanour then was sober enough to lend colour to that belief. I'll send you word when I catch him.
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