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girl seemed to have been awaiting her; she got up from her
low chair. ‘Pardon my taking the liberty,’ she said in a small
voice. ‘It will be the last-for some time.’
Her voice was strange, and her eyes, widely opened, had
an excited, frightened look. ‘You’re not going away!’ Isabel
exclaimed.
‘I’m going to the convent.’
‘To the convent?’
Pansy drew nearer, till she was near enough to put her
arms round Isabel and rest her head on her shoulder. She
stood this way a moment, perfectly still; but her companion
could feel her tremble. The quiver of her little body expressed
everything she was unable to say. Isabel nevertheless pressed
her. ‘Why are you going to the convent?’
‘Because papa thinks it best. He says a young girl’s bet-
ter, every now and then, for making a little retreat. He says
the world, always the world, is very bad for a young girl. This
is just a chance for a little seclusion-a little reflexion.’ Pan-
sy spoke in short detached sentences, as if she could scarce
trust herself; and then she added with a triumph of self-con-
trol: ‘I think papa’s right; I’ve been so much in the world this
winter.’
Her announcement had a strange effect on Isabel; it
seemed to carry a larger meaning than the girl herself knew.
‘When was this decided?’ she asked. ‘I’ve heard nothing of
it.’
‘Papa told me half an hour ago; he thought it better it
shouldn’t be too much talked about in advance. Madame
Catherine’s to come for me at a quarter past seven, and I’m

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