She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. “You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. But she was not to be tempted. She thought of her aunt and that purse that was dropped on the table, and of many troublesome and ill-requited kindnesses; she thought of the help of the Widgetts, of Teddy’s admiration; she thought, with a new-born charity, of her father, of Manning’s conscientious unselfishness, of Miss Miniver’s devotion. Shouting to his companion, even as they passed by where I hid myself, he called out that he thought to find you at the convent.
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