long and unembarrassed look of appraisal. It was so frank that it was not uncivil; you felt that here was a woman whose business it was to form an opinion of others and to whom it never occurred that subterfuge was necessary. With a dignified affability she motioned to her visitors to take chairs and herself sat down. Sister St. Joseph, smiling still but silent, stood at the side but a little behind the Superior.
“I know you English like tea,” said Mother Superior, “and I have ordered some. But I must make my excuses if it is served in the Chinese fashion. I know that Mr. Waddington prefers whisky, but that I am afraid I cannot offer him.”
She smiled and there was a hint of malice in her grave eyes.
“Oh, come, ma mère, you speak as if I were a confirmed drunkard.”
“I wish you could say that you never drink, Mr. Waddington.”
“I can at all events say that I never drink except to excess.”
The Mother Superior laughed and translated into French for Sister St. Joseph the flippant remark. She looked at him with lingering, friendly eyes.
“We must make allowances for Mr. Waddington because two or three times when we had no money at all and did not know how we were to feed our orphans Mr. Waddington came to our rescue.”
The convert who had opened the door for them now came in with a tray on which were Chinese
