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A night out might do him good." The Father Superior frowned. "Do you know who he is?" "No." "His real name is Jones. Why do you start? You have heard it before?" John had started, thinking of Jinny Jones, Golly's deserted and self-immolated friend. "It is an uncommon name," he stammered "for a monastery, I mean." "He is or was an uncommon man!" said the Superior gravely.
They had visited the chambers which Lord Brownstone and Drake occupied together, and in girlish innocence had put on the gentlemen's clothes and danced before them. Then they all went to the theatre, where Golly's delightful simplicity and childish ignorance of the world had charmed them. Everything to her was new, strange, and thrilling.
Glorious as were Golly's spirits, exquisitely simple her worldly ignorance, and irresistible her powers of mimicry, strangely enough they were considered out of place in St. Barabbas' Hospital.
Golly Coyle was the only granddaughter of a vague and somewhat simple clergyman who existed, with an aunt, solely for Golly's epistolary purposes. There was, of course, intermediate ancestry, notably a dead mother who was French, and therefore responsible for any later naughtiness in Golly, but they have no purpose here. They lived in the Isle of Man.
"To think," she wrote to John Gale, "that the audience only laughed and shouted, and never offered to help! And yet look at the churches in London, where they dare to preach the gospel!" Fired by this simple letter, and alarmed by Golly's simplicity, John Gale went to his clerical chief, Archdeacon Luxury, and demanded permission to preach next Sunday.
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