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'There you are, Father,' she said. 'I'll not ask you to shake hands with me. You probably wouldn't.'

'As I am a priest,' Father Consett answered. 'I could not refuse. But I'd rather not.'

'This,' Sylvia repeated, 'appears to be a boring place.'

'You won't say so to-morrow,' the priest said. 'There's two young fellows...And a sort of policeman to trepan away from your mother's maid!'

'That,' Sylvia answered, 'is meant to be bitter. But it doesn't hurt. I am done with men.' She added suddenly: 'Mother, didn't you one day, while you were still young, say that you had done with men? Firmly! And mean it?'

Mrs Satterthwaite said:

'I did.'

'And did you keep to it?' Sylvia asked.

Mrs Satterthwaite said:

'I did.'

'And shall I, do you imagine?'

Mrs Satterthwaite said:

'I imagine you will.'

Sylvia said:

'Oh dear!'

The priest said:

'I'd be willing to see your husband's telegram. It makes a difference to see the words on paper.'

Sylvia rose effortlessly.

'I don't see why you shouldn't,' she said. 'It will give you no pleasure.' She drifted towards the door.