e is Miss Innes," said the prioress; "I know you wished to make her
acquaintance."

"Yes, indeed."

Evelyn noticed the bright eyes and the small, clearly cut nose and the
pointed chin, but her liveliest sensation was of Mother Hilda's hand; so
small was it and soft that it seemed like a little crushed bird in
Evelyn's hand, and Evelyn did not think that hers was a large hand.

"I am sure, Miss Innes, you feel that you have been thanked sufficiently
for all you have done for us, but you'll forgive us if we feel that we
cannot thank you often enough. Your singing at Benediction to-day was a
great pleasure to us all. Whose 'Ave Maria' was it, Miss Innes?"

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 he