Sister Helena emerged from her quarters and went into the refractory. She stood near the door, adjusting her scapular in the reflection of a piece of stained glass. Her large rosary glistened in the sunlight hanging neatly at her side. Her veil shimmered in the morning light.
Fairbairn emerged from her quarters buttoning the last button on her service uniform jacket. Her service uniform was pristine and immaculate. She paused, gave Sister Helena a polite nod and smoothed out her service cap beneath her arm.
“How do I look, Sister? Will the villagers think I'm one of the local saints?” Fairbairn asked dryly.
Sister Helena smiled. “Perhaps if Saint George had regulation ribbons and a service pistol.” Fairbairn gave a quite snort of amusement and set the cap on her head.