She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. "If so, I may as well execute my warrant. “Sort of man who can see no further than his nose,” he remarked contemptuously. ‘I don’t want a list of all the nuns resident in your wretched convent. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. The doctor's lessons, perhaps delivered with too much serious emphasis, had destroyed that buoyant confidence in her ability to take care of herself. Those awful chairs!" After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomed quota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself. Pure romantic nonsense on her part.
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