He heard her beads drop, and out of a loose sleeve a slim hand took the
letter. There was not enough light in the room to read by, and she
remained outside, leaning against the glass door.

'You haven't written exactly the letter I should have written, but,
then, we're quite different. I should have written a cold and more
business-like letter.' His face changed expression, and she added: 'I'm
sorry if I'm unsympathetic, Oliver.'

The touch of her hand and the look in her eyes surprised him, for Eliza
was not demonstrative, and he wondered what had called forth this sudden
betrayal of feeling. He expected her to ask him not to send the letter,
but instead of doing so she said:

'If the letter were written otherwise it wouldn't be like yourself,
Oliver. Send it, and if she leaves London and comes back here, I will
think better of her. It will be proof that she has repented. I see
you'll not have an easy mind until you make atonement. You exaggerate, I
think; but everyone for himself in a matter like this.'

'Thank you, Eliza. You always understand.'

'Not always. I failed to understand when you wanted to set up a
hermitage on Castle Island.'

'Yes, you did; you have better sense than I. Yet I feel we are more
alike than the others. You have counted for a great deal in my life,
Eliza. Do you remember saying that you intended to be Reverend Mother?
And now you are Reverend Mother.'