And it was this telegram that made the Senora Barker go, or, without doubt, she would have of herself told to the Don Preble, her compatriot of the Sierras, how good the convent was for his niece.
Stung by the thought that this woman had again evaded him, and disconcerted and confused by the scarcely intelligible information he had acquired, Key could with difficulty maintain his composure.

"The caballero is tired of his long pasear," said the Lady Superior gently.
"We will have a glass of wine in the lodge waiting-room." She led the way from the reception room to the outer door, but stopped at the sound of approaching footsteps and rustling muslin along the gravel walk.
"The second class are going out," she said, as a gentle procession of white frocks, led by two nuns, filed before the gateway.

"We will wait until they have passed.

But the senor can see that my children do not look unhappy." They certainly looked very cheerful, although they had halted before the gateway with a little of the demureness of young people who know they are overlooked by authority, and had bumped against each other with affected gravity.

Somewhat ashamed of his useless deception, and the guileless simplicity of the good Lady Superior, Key hesitated and began: "I am afraid that I am really giving you too much trouble," and suddenly stopped.
For as his voice broke the demure silence, one of the nearest--a young girl of apparently seventeen--turned towards him with a quick and an apparently irresistible impulse, and as quickly turned away again.