“’Mother, we may go out, mayn’t we?  Oh, thank you so much, it is such a lovely evening.  We need not wear cloaks, need we?  Oh, that is all right, just our garden shoes.’  And there was a general scurry to the cells for shoes, whilst Mother Hilda and I made our way downstairs, and by another door, into the still summer evening.

“‘How lovely it is!’ I said, feeling that if Mother Hilda and I could have spent the recreation hour together my first convent evening would have been happy.  But the chattering novices soon caught us up, and when we were sitting all a-row on a bench, or grouped on a variety of little wooden stools, they asked me questions as to my sensations in the refectory, and I could not help feeling a little jarred by their familiarity.

“’Were you not frightened when you felt yourself at the head of the procession?  I was,’ said Winifred.

“’But you didn’t get through nearly so well as Sister Evelyn; you turned the wrong way at the end of the passage and Mother had to go after you,’ said Sister Angela.  ’We all thought you were going to run away.’  And they went into the details as to how they had felt on their arrival, and various little incidents were recalled, illustrating the experience of previous postulants, and these were productive of much hilarity.

“‘What did you all think of the cake?’ said Sister Barbara suddenly.

“‘Was it Angela’s cake?’ asked Mother Hilda.  ’Angela, I really must congratulate you; you will be quite a distinguished chef in time.’

“Sister Angela blushed with delight, saying, ’Yes, I made it yesterday, Mother; but, of course, Sister Rufina stood over me to see that I didn’t forget anything.’

“‘Ah, well, I don’t think I cared very much for the flavouring,’ said Sister Barbara in pondering tones.

“‘You seemed to me to be enjoying it very much at the time,’ I said, joining the conversation for the first time; and when I added that Sister Barbara had eaten four slices of bread and butter the laugh turned against Barbara, and every one was hilarious.  It is evident that Sister Barbara’s appetite is considered an excellent joke in the novitiate.

“Of course I marvelled that grown-up women should be so easily amused, and then remembered a party at the Savoy Hotel (on leaving it I went to the presbytery to confess to you, Monsignor).  I had to admit to myself that the talk at Louise Helbrun’s party did not move on a higher level; our conversation did not show us to be wiser than the novices, and our behaviour was certainly less exemplary.  Everything is attitude of mind, and the convent attitude towards life is curiously sympathetic to me... at present.  My doubts lest it should not always be so is caused by the fury of my dislike to my former attitude of mind; something tells me that such fury as mine cannot be maintained, and will be followed by a certain reaction.  I don’t mean that I shall ever again return to a life of sin, that life is done with for ever.  Even if I should fall again—­the thought is most painful to me—­but even if that should happen it would be a passing accident, I never could again continue in sin, for the memory of the suffering sin has caused me would be sure to bring me back again and force me to take shelter and to repent.