” For a moment or two he did not speak. What a girl of sixteen cares for is hair and a high color and moonlight and a tenor voice. He barely shook the rose petals from her hair. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. “Show me around you house, John. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. John knew everybody, it seemed.
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