rt people in Europe, and men who gave a girl such a good time if she
happened to be pretty and was likely to have a dot.

Alma had talked so eagerly and the girls had listened so intently, that
nobody was aware that Sister Angela had returned to the room until she
stepped forward and said:

"Alma Lier, I'm ashamed of you. Go back to your bed, miss, this very
minute."

The other girls crept away and I half covered my face with my
bed-clothes, but Alma stood up to Sister Angela and answered her back.

"Go to bed yourself, and don't speak to me like that, or you'll pay for
your presumption."

"Pay? Presumption? You insolent thing, you are corrupting the whole
school and are an utter disgrace to it. I warned you that I would tell
the Reverend Mother what you are and now I've a great mind to do it."

"Do it. I dare you to do it. Do it to-night, and to-morrow morning _I_
will do something."

"What will you do, you brazen hussy?" said Sister Angela, but I could
see that her lip was trembling.

"Never mind what. If I'm a hussy I'm not a hypocrite, and as for
corrupting the school, and being a disgrace to it, I'll leave the
Reverend Mother to say who is doing that."

Low as the light was I could see that Sister Angela was deadly pale.
There was a moment of silence in which I thought she glanced in my
direction, and then stammering something which I did not hear, she left
the dormitory.

It was long before she returned and when she did so I saw her creep into
her cubicle and sit there for quite a great time before going to bed. My
heart was thumping hard, for I had a vague feeling that I had been
partly to blame for what had occurred, but after a while I fell asleep
and remembered no more until I was awakened in the middle of the night
by somebody kissing me in my sleep.

It was Sister Angela, and she was turning away, but I called her back,
and she knelt by my bed and whispered:

"Hush! I know what has happened, but I don't blame you for it."

I noticed that she was wearing her out-door cloak, and that she was
breathing rapidly, just as she did on the night she came from the
chaplain's quarters, and when I asked if she was going anywhere she said
yes, and if I ever heard anything against Sister Angela I was to think
the best of her.

"But you are so good. . . ."

"No, I am not good. I am very wicked. I should never have thought of
being a nun, but I'm glad now that I'm only a novice and have never
taken the v