'I was going to ask you,' said the nun, waking from her reverie, 'if you
have written to Miss Glynn.'

'Yes, I wrote to her.'

'And she's willing to come back?'

'I haven't spoken to her about that. It didn't occur to me until
afterwards, but I can write at once if you consent.'

'I may be wrong, Oliver, but I don't think she'll care to leave London
and come back here, where she is known.'

'But, Eliza, a girl likes to live in her own country. Mind you, I am
responsible. I drove her out of her country among strangers. She's
living among Protestants.'

'I don't think that will trouble her very much.'

'I don't know why you say that, Eliza. Do you think that a woman cannot
repent? that because she happens to have sinned once--'

'No; I suppose there are repentant sinners, but I think we most often go
on as we begin. Now, you see, Father O'Grady says that she's getting on
very well in London, and we like to live among those who appreciate us.'

'Well, Eliza, of course, if you start with the theory that no one can
repent--'