Evelyn told them, and thinking it would interest the nuns, she admitted that her father would not allow it to be sacred music.  This led the conversation on to the question of Palestrina, and how the old music had rescued the Jesuits from their pecuniary embarrassments.  A casual mention of Wagner showed her that the Reverend Mother was interested, and she said that she might sing them Elizabeth’s prayer.  Evelyn spoke of the Chorale in the first act of the “Meistersinger,” and this led her into quite a little account of the music she sang on the stage.  It pleased her to notice the different effect of her account of her art on the four nuns.  The conversation, she could see, carried the prioress back into the past, but she put aside these memories of long ago and affected a polite interest in the stage.  Mother Philippa listened as she might to a story, too far removed from her for her to be more than vaguely interested; Sister Mary John listened in the hopes that Evelyn would illustrate her experience with some few bars of the music—­with her it was the music and nothing else; Mother Mary Hilda listened very prettily, and Evelyn noticed that it was she who asked the most questions.  Mother Mary Hilda was the most fearless, and showed the least dread in the conversation.  Yet for no single moment did Evelyn think that she was the worldliest of the four nuns.  Evelyn thought that probably she was the least.  Her trivial utterances were the necessity of the unimportant moment, and she seemed to bring to them the enlightenment of her own vivid faith.  The holiness that shone out of her eyes inspired the calm, tender smile, and was in her whole manner.  “She speaks,” Evelyn thought, “of worldly things without affectation, but how clear it is that they lie outside, far outside, of her real life.”

Evelyn was saying that it was a long while since she had sung any sacred music, and, referring to the difference of the rule in France and in England, she mentioned that in Paris the opera singers frequently sang in the churches.

“It must be hard on Catholics with beautiful voices like yours that they may not be allowed to sing in church choirs, for there can be nothing so delightful as to bring a great gift to God’s service.”

It was the prioress who broke off the conversation, to Evelyn’s regret.

“Mother Hilda, I am afraid we are forgetting your young charges.”

“Yes, indeed, I must run back to my children.  Good-bye, Miss Innes, I am so glad that you have come to us;” and the warm, soft clasp of the little hand was to Evelyn a further assurance of friendly welcome.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

She was ashamed not to be able to follow the Office in chapel, so at the Reverend Mother’s suggestion she consented to employ part of her long convent leisure in taking lessons in Latin.  Mother Mary Hilda was to be her instructress.