“Far more so than I,” returned Olga with spirit.  “Anyhow, he never went out of his way to have tea with me.”

A peal of laughter from her companion put a swift end to her indignation.  Violet was absolutely irresistible when she laughed.  It was utterly impossible to be indignant with her.

“Then you think if I am there perhaps he will be persuaded to stay at home to tea?” she chuckled mischievously.  “Well, my dear, I’ll come, and we will play at battledore and shuttlecock to your heart’s content.  But if the young man turns and rends us for our pains—­and I have a shrewd notion that that’s the sort of young man he is—­you mustn’t blame me.”

She tossed away her cigarette with the words, and turned inwards, sweeping Olga with her with characteristic energy.  She was never still for long in this mood.

They passed through the great hall to a Gothic archway in the south wall, close to the wonderful stained window.  Olga glanced up at it with a slight shiver as she passed below.

“Isn’t it horribly realistic?” she said.

The girl beside her laughed lightly.  “I rather like it myself; but then I have an appetite for the horrors.  And they’ve made the poor man so revoltingly sanctimonious that one really can’t feel sorry for him.  I’d cut off the head of anybody with a face like that.  It’s a species that still exists, but ought to have been exterminated long ago.”

With her hand upon Olga’s arm, she led her through the Gothic archway to a second smaller hall, and on up a wide oak staircase with a carved balustrade that was lighted half-way up by another great window of monastic design but clear glass.

Olga always liked to pause by this window, for the view from it was magnificent.  Straight out to the open sea it looked, and the width of the outlook was superb.

“Oh, it’s better than Redlands,” she said.

“I don’t think so,” returned Violet.  “Redlands is civilized.  This isn’t.  Picture to yourself the cruelty of bottling up a herd of monks here in full view of their renounced liberty.  Imagine being condemned to pass this window a dozen times in the day, on the way to that dreary chapel of theirs.  A refinement of torture with which the window downstairs simply can’t compete.  How they must have hated the smell of the sea, poor dears!  But I daresay they didn’t open their windows very often.  It wasn’t the fashion in those days.”

She drew Olga on to the corridor above, and so to her own room, a cheerful apartment that faced the Priory grounds.

“If I am really coming to stay with you, I suppose I must pack some clothes.  Does the young man dress for dinner, by the way?”

“Oh, yes.  It’s very ridiculous.  We all do it now.  It’s such a waste of time,” said the practical Olga.  “And I never have anything to wear.”

“Poor child!  That is a drawback certainly.  I wonder if you could wear any of my things.  I shouldn’t like to eclipse you.”