my past life."

"Ulick--"

"Still less of him. You have come here, sent by Owen Asher or by
Ulick Dean--which is it?"

"My dear Evelyn, I came here because we have always been friends and
for old friendship's sake--by nobody."

These words seemed to reassure her, and she sat down by her friend,
saying that if Louise only knew the trouble she had been through.

"But all that is forgotten... if it can be forgotten. Do you know if
our sins are ever forgotten, Louise?"

"Sins, Evelyn? What sins? The sin of liking one man a little better
than another?"

"That is exactly it, Louise. The sin and the shame are in just what
you have said--liking one man better than another. But I wish,
Louise, you wouldn't speak to me of these things, for I'll have to
get up and go back to the convent."

"Well, Evelyn, let us talk about the white clouds going by, and how
beautiful the wood is when the sun is shining, flecking the ground
with spots of light; birds are singing in the branches, and that
thrush! I have never heard a better one." Louise walked a little way.
Returning to Evelyn quickly, she said, "There are all kinds of birds
here--linnets, robins, yes, and a blackbird. A fine contralto!"

"But why, Louise, do you begin to talk about clouds and birds?"

"Well, dear, because you won't talk about our friends."

"Or is it because you think I must be mad to stay here and to wear
this dress? You are quite wrong if you think such a thing, for it was
to save myself from going mad that I came here."

"My dear Evelyn, what could have put such ideas into your head?"

"Louise, we mustn't talk of the past. I can see you are astonished at
this dress, yet you are a Catholic of a sort, but still a Catholic. I
was like you once, only a change came. One day perhaps you will be
like me."

"You think I shall end in a convent, Evelyn?"

Evelyn did not answer, and; not knowing exactly what to say next,
Louise spoke of the convent garden.

"You always used to be fond of flowers. I suppose a great part of
your time is spent in gardening?"

An angry colour rose into Evelyn's cheek.

"You don't wish me," she said, "to talk about myself? You think--
Never mind, I don't care what you think about me."

Louise assured her that she was mistaken; and in the middle of a long
discourse Evelyn's thoughts seemed suddenly to break away, and she
spoke to Louise of the greenhouse which she had made that winter,
asking her if she would like to com