"Your poor people are your occupations since you left the stage?"

"You think me frivolous, or at least changeable, Reverend Mother?"

"No, indeed; no, indeed," both nuns cried together, and Evelyn
thought of what her life had been, how the new occupations which had
come into it contrasted with the old--singing practice in the
morning, rehearsals, performances in the evening, intrigues,
jealousies; and the change seemed so wonderful that she would like
to have spoken of it to the nuns, only that could not be done without
speaking of Owen Asher. But there was no reason for not speaking of
her stage life, the life that had drifted by. "You see, my old
friends are no longer interested in me." A look of surprise came
into the nuns' faces. "Why should they be? They are only interested
in me so long as I am available to fill an engagement. And the
singers who were my friends--what should I speak to them about? Not
of my poor people; though, indeed, many of my friends are very good:
they are very kind to each other."

"But we mustn't think of taking the money from you that should go to
your poor people."

"No, no; that is out of the question, dear Mother. As I have told
you, I can easily let you have a hundred pounds; and as for paying
off the debts of the convent--that I look upon as an obligation, as
a _bonne bouche_, I might say. My heart is set on it." "We can
never thank you enough."

"I don't want to be thanked; it is all pleasure to me to do this for
you. Now goodbye; I'll write to you about the success of the
concerts. You will pray that I may be a great success, won't you?
Much more depends upon your prayers than on my voice."

Mother Philippa murmured that everything was in God's hands.

The Prioress raised her eyes and looked at Evelyn questioningly.
"Mother Philippa is quite right. Our prayers will be entirely
pleasing to God; He sent you to us. Without you our convent would be
broken up. We shall pray for you, Evelyn."

II

The larger part of the stalls was taken up by Lady Ascott's party;
she had a house-party at Thornton Grange, and had brought all her
friends to Edinburgh to hear Evelyn. Added to which, she had written
to all the people she knew living in Edinburgh, and within reach of
Edinburgh, asking them to come to the concert, pressing tickets upon
them.

"But, my dear, is it really true that you have left the stage? One
never heard of such a thing before. Now, why did you do this? You
w