“How wet he will be when he gets home!” a novice would sometimes say, and the conversation was not continued.

“I wonder if we shall ever have fine weather again?” broke in another.

“One of these days it will cease raining,” Mother Hilda said, for she was an optimist; and very soon she began to be looked upon as a prophetess, for the weather mended imperceptibly, and one afternoon the sky was in gala toilette, in veils and laces:  a great lady stepping into her carriage going to a ball could not be more beautifully attired.  An immense sky brushed over with faint wreathing clouds with blue colour showing through, a blue brilliant as any enamel worn by a great lady on her bosom; and the likeness of the clouds to plumes passed through Evelyn’s mind, and her eyes wandering westward, noticed how the sky down there was a rich, almost sulphurous, yellow; it set off the white and blue aerial extravagances of the zenith.  The garden was still wet and cold, but a warm air was coming in, and the voices of the nuns and novices sounded so innocent and free that Evelyn was moved by a sudden sympathy to join them.

Under yonder trees the three Mothers were walking, looking towards Evelyn now and then; she was the subject of their conversation, the Prioress maintaining it would be a great benefit to her to take the veil.

“But, dear Mother, do you think she will ever recover her health sufficiently for her to decide, and for us to decide, whether she has a vocation?” Mother Hilda asked.

“It seems to me that Evelyn is recovering every day.  Do you remember at first whole days passed without her speaking?  Now there are times when she joins in the conversation.”

Mother Mary Hilda did not answer, and a little aggressive glance shot out of the Prioress’s eyes.

“You don’t like to have her in the novitiate.  I remember when she returned from Rome—­”

“It seems to me that it would be just as well for her to live in the convent as an oblate, occupying the guest-room as before.”

“Now, why do you think that, Hilda?  Let us have things precise.”

“Her life as an opera singer clings about her.”

“On the contrary, I cannot discover any trace of her past life in her.  In the chapel she seems very often overcome, and for piety seems to set an example to us all.”

“You see, dear Mother, I am responsible for the religious education of some half-dozen young and innocent girls, and, though I like Evelyn herself very much, her influence—­”

“But what influence?  She doesn’t speak.”

“No matter; it is known to every one in the convent that she has once been a singer, though they don’t know, perhaps, she was on the stage; and she creates an atmosphere which I assure you—­”

“Of course, Hilda, you can oppose me; you always oppose.  Nothing is easier than opposition.  Your responsibilities, I would not attempt to deny that they exist, but you seem to forget that I, too, have responsibilities.  The debts of the convent are very pressing.  And Mother Philippa, too, has responsibilities.”