e scene contemplated by
Sister Claire, and he laughed at the spectacle of the escaped one
leaping from a window into her lover's arms, or sliding down a rope amid
the cheers of the mob and the shrieks of the disgraced poor souls
within. Then he gritted his teeth at the thought of Louis, and Mary his
mother, and Mona his sister. His breath came short. Claire was a woman,
but some women are not dishonored by the fate of Jezebel.

Shortly after ten o'clock a small, well-wrapped figure turned the remote
corner of the Home, came out to the Square, saw the cab, and coming
forward with confidence opened the door and stepped in. As Arthur drove
off the blood surged to his head and his heart in a way that made his
ears sing. It seemed impossible that the absurd should turn out wisdom
at the first jump. As he drove along he wondered over the capacities of
art. No two individuals could have been more unlike in essentials than
Edith Conyngham and Sister Claire. Now it would appear that high-heeled
shoes, padded clothes, heavy eyebrows, paint, a loud and confident
voice, a bold manner, and her beautiful costume had made Sister Claire;
while shoes without heels, rusty clothes, a gray wig, a weak voice, and
timid manner, had given form to Edith Conyngham.

A soul is betrayed by its sins. The common feature of the two characters
was the sensuality which, neither in the nun nor in her double, would be
repressed or disguised. Looking back, Arthur could see some points of
resemblance which might have betrayed the wretch to a clever detective.
Well, he would settle all accounts with her presently, and he debated
only one point, the flinging of her to the dogs. In twenty minutes they
reached the office of the Escaped Nun. He opened the door of the cab and
she stepped out nervously, but walked with decision into the building,
for which she had the keys.

"Anything more, mum?" he said respectfully.

"Come right in, and light up for me," she said ungraciously, in a
towering rage. He found his way to the gas jets and flooded the office
with the light from four. She pulled down the curtains, and flung aside
her rusty shawl. At the same moment he flung an arm about her, and with
his free hand tore the gray wig from her head, and shook free the mass
of yellow hair which lay beneath it. Then he flung her limp into the
nearest chair, and stood gazing at her, frozen with amaze. She cowered,
pale with the sudden fright of the attack. It was not Sis