explanation of the mystery, and would bring his friend to hear the wonderful voice at the Passionist Convent.  By the time he came again she would be gone, and his friend would say that he had had too much to drink that afternoon at the inn.  They would not be long in finding an explanation; but should there happen to be a journalist there, he would put a paragraph in the papers, and all sorts of people would come to the convent and go away disappointed.

She looked round the church, calculating its resonance, and thought with how much of her voice she should sing so as to produce an effect without, however, startling the little congregation.  The sermon seemed to her very long; she was unable to fix her attention, and though all Father Daly said was very edifying, her thoughts wandered, and wonderful legends and tales about a voice heard for one week at the Wimbledon Convent thronged her brain, and she invented quite a comic little episode, in which some dozen or so of London managers met at Benediction.  She thought that their excuses one to the other would be very comic.

She was wearing the black lace scarf instead of a hat; it went well with the grey alpaca, and under it was her fair hair; and when she got up to go to the organ loft after the sermon, she felt that the old ladies and the bicyclists were already wondering who she was.  Her involuntary levity annoyed her, and she forced a certain seriousness upon herself as she climbed the steep spiral staircase.

“So you have found your way ... this is our choir,” and she introduced Evelyn to the five sisters, hurrying through their names in a low whisper.  “We don’t sing the ‘O Salutaris,’ as there has been exposition.  We’ll sing this hymn instead, and immediately after you’ll sing the ’Ave Maria’; it will take the place of the Litany.”

Then the six pale voices began to wail out the hymn, wobbling and fluctuating, the only steady voice being Sister Mary John’s.  Though mortally afraid of the Latin syllables, Evelyn seconded Sister Mary John’s efforts, and the others, taking courage, sang better than usual.  Sister Mary John turned delighted from the organ, and, her eyes bright with anticipation, said, “Now.”

She played the introduction, Evelyn opened her music.  The moment was one of intense excitement among the five nuns.  They had gathered together in a group.  The great singer who had saved their convent (had it not been for her they would have been thrown back upon the world) was going to sing.  Evelyn knew what was passing in their minds, and was a little nervous.  She wished they would not look at her so, and she turned away from them.  Sister Mary John played the chord, and the voice began.