It was apparent that the ignorance of the public concerning their excellence greatly annoyed him.
When again he looked at Sister Anne she was regarding him in alarm--obviously she was upon the point of instant flight.
"You are a reporter ?" she said.
Some people like to place themselves in the hands of a reporter because they hope he will print their names in black letters; a few others--only reporters know how few--would as soon place themselves in the hands of a dentist.
"A reporter from the REPUBLIC," repeated Sam.
"But why ask ME ?" demanded Sister Anne.
Sam could see no reason for her question; in extenuation and explanation he glanced at her uniform.
"I thought you were at work here," he said simply.

"I beg your pardon." He stepped aside as though he meant to leave her.

In giving that impression he was distinctly dishonest.
"There was no other reason," persisted Sister Anne.

"I mean for speaking to me ?" The reason for speaking to her was so obvious that Sam wondered whether this could be the height of innocence or the most banal coquetry.

The hostile look in the eyes of the lady proved it could not be coquetry.
"I am sorry," said Sam.