” “Right!” he said, and hesitated, and then got up and went into the preparationroom. “I have a message from your sister. By the time he had reached St. . It isn’t such fun as it seems. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. “You are Sir John Ferringhall,” she repeated. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. Jonathan, however, was nowhere to be seen.
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