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. 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. “I can’t imagine what has come over you,” said her aunt. I wondered what you could be doing and what might be happening to you. “One hardly knows—all the time. I am resolved to see her, without delay, and ascertain if it's possible to remove her. But Jack was too well versed in the geography of the place to attempt either of them. Her birthday was four months away, and that, at its extremist point, might give her another five pounds. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses.
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