You see it is still the carnival season in the world.

It is in Lent that the great ladies come to us, and then we have often not a room free." The nun smiled sadly, shaking her head again, in a way that seemed habitual with her.
"After all," she added, as Unorna said nothing, "it is better that they should come then, rather than not at all, though I often think it would be better still if they spent carnival in the convent and Lent in the world." "The world you speak of would be a gloomy place if you had the ordering of it, Sister Paul!" observed Unorna with a little laugh.
"Ah, well! I daresay it would seem so to you.

I know little enough of the world as you understand it, save for what our guests tell me--and, indeed, I am glad that I do not know more." "You know almost as much as I do." The sister looked long and earnestly into Unorna's face as though searching for something.

She was a thin, pale woman over forty years of age.

Not a wrinkle marked her waxen skin, and her hair was entirely concealed under the smooth head-dress, but her age was in her eyes.
"What is your life, Unorna ?" she asked suddenly.