'It will be such a comfort to know that he is being well cared for, poor fellow.

I believe he will be here in a few minutes.' 'We are expecting him,' answered the nun, not stirring.
Another long silence followed, and she sat so perfectly still that the Princess began to fidget, looked at the tall old clock in the corner and then compared her pretty watch with it, laid her olive-green parasol across the table, but took it off again almost immediately and dropped the tip to the floor.

The Sister's impassive stillness seemed meant for a reproach and made her nervous.

The certainty that the motionless woman opposite her was Angela, calmly declining to know her, was very disagreeable.

She tried the excuse of pretending in her thoughts that there was still a reasonable doubt about it, but she could no longer succeed; yet to address her niece by her baptismal name would be to acknowledge herself finally beaten in the contest of coolness, after having at first succeeded in making her adversary change colour.
The ticking of the clock was so distinct that it made an echo in the high hall; the morning sun streamed across the pavement, from the cloistered garden the chirping of a few sparrows and the sharper twitter of the house-swallow that had already nested under the eaves sounded very clearly through the closed glass door.
The Princess could not bear the silence any longer, and she looked at Sister Giovanna with a rather pinched smile.
'My dear Angela,' she said, 'there is really no reason why we should keep up this absurd little comedy any longer, is there ?' The nun did not betray the least surprise at the sudden question.
'If you have no reason for it, I have none,' she answered, but her gaze was so steady that the Princess looked away.