Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. ‘And now, monsieur le major—’ ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. ‘I am far from imagining anything of the kind.
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