But this was but a momentary gleam of personal application, and at this time she followed it up no further. ’ ‘I do not care any more about the portrait,’ Melusine said, opening the door to the attic corridor that gave off onto the row of little rooms that served as private cells for the senior nuns. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. Just as Jack gained the entrance, he heard a man's footstep behind him, and aware that the slightest indiscretion would betray him, he halted, uncertain what to do. It’s the sort of way a woman always does gloss over her ethical positions.
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