“I don’t think it was more than six years,” Mother Philippa said, correcting the Reverend Mother.  “I remember you very well, Miss Innes.  You left us one Easter morning.”

Evelyn liked her plain, matter-of-fact face, a short face undistinguished by any special characteristic, yet once seen it could not be forgotten, so implicit was it of her practical mind and a desire to serve someone.

“That silly Sister Agnes has forgotten the strawberry jam,” she said, when the porteress brought in the tea.  “I will run and fetch it; I shan’t be a moment.”

“Oh, Mother Philippa, pray don’t trouble; I prefer some of that cake.”

“No, no, I’ve been thinking all the afternoon of this jam; we make it ourselves; you must have some.”

The Reverend Mother apologised for having put sugar in Evelyn’s tea, for she remembered now that Evelyn had said that she did not like sugar; and Monsignor took advantage of the occasion to reassure the Reverend Mother that the success of the concert had been much greater than he had anticipated....  Thanks to Miss Innes, he hoped to be able to hand her a cheque for more than two hundred pounds.  This was more than double the sum she had hoped to receive.

“We shall always pray for you,” she said, taking Evelyn’s hand.  “I cannot tell you what a load you have taken off my shoulders, for, of course, the main responsibility rests upon me.”

Evelyn regretted that the nuns could not have tea with her, and wondered whether they were ever allowed to partake of their 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.”