The day after Mrs. Singleton's evening, Helen said to her cousin: "I wish so much, Marion, that you would sometimes sing in our choir! Miss Grady, our organist, said to me last night that she would be so glad if you would, and I promised to ask you."
"Why, certainly," replied Marion, with ready assent; "I shall be very glad to do so whenever you like. Catholic music is so beautiful that it is a pleasure to sing it; but I don't know much of it."
"You know that lovely 'Ave Maria' you used to sing at the convent."
"Gounod's? Oh, yes! But when can I sing that?"
"At the Offertory in the Mass. I know Miss Grady will be delighted, for she has no really good voice. Fancy, mine is her best!"
"How modest you are!" said Marion, smiling. "Very well, then, I will sing the 'Ave Maria' next Sunday with a great deal of pleasure, if your organist likes, and your priest does not object to a Protestant voice."
"He is not likely to do that; but I thought you always declared that you are not a Protestant."
"I suppose one must be classed as a Protestant, according to the strict sense of the term, when one is not a Catholic—and that I am not."
"But you may be some day."
"Nothing is more unlikely. Your religion is too exacting: it puts one's whole life in bondage. Now, I want to be free."