own excellent
home-made cake. She was beginning to enjoy her visit, and to acquire an
interest in the welfare of the convent. She had hitherto only devoted
her money to selfish ends; but now she resolved that, if she could help
it, these poor sisters should not be driven from their convent. Mother
Phillippa asked her suddenly why she had not been to see them before.
Evelyn answered that she had been abroad. But living abroad meant to the
nun the pleasure of living in Catholic countries, and she was eager to
know if Evelyn had had the privilege of going to Rome. She smiled at the
nun's innocent curiosity, which she was glad to gratify, and told her
about the old Romanesque churches on the Rhine, and the hundred marble
spires of the Cathedral of Milan. But in the midst of such pleasant
conversation came an unfortunate question. Mother Philippa asked if
Evelyn had travelled with her father. Any simple answer would have
sufficed, but she lost her presence of mind, and the "No," which came at
last was so weak and equivocal that the Reverend Mother divined in that
moment some part of the truth. Evelyn sat as if tongue-tied, and it was
Monsignor who came to her rescue by explaining that she had sung in St.
Petersburg, Vienna, Paris, and all the capitals of Europe.

"You must excuse us," the Reverend Mother said, "for not knowing, but
these things do not penetrate convent walls."

The conversation dropped, and the Reverend Mother took advantage of the
occasion to suggest that they should visit the chapel.

Mother Philippa walked on with the priests in front, leaving Evelyn with
the Reverend Mother.

"I am forced to walk very slowly on account of my heart. I hope you
don't mind, Miss Innes?"

"Your heart, Reverend Mother? You suffer from your heart? I'm so sorry."

The Reverend Mother said the new chapel had been built by the celebrated
Catholic architect, and mentioned how the last three years of the
Reverend Mother's life had been given over to this work Evelyn knew that
the mouldings and carving and the stained glass had caused the pecuniary
embarrassments of the convent, and did not speak of them She was told
that the architect had insisted that every detail should be in keeping,
and understood that the thirteenth century had proved the ruin of the
convent; every minor decoration was faithful to it--the very patterns
stitched in wool on the cushions of the _prie-dieu_ were strictly Gothic
in character.

Only the lowe