"My dear child—do you mind my calling you so?"
"Oh, no—no. I wish you would call me by my name—Alex."
"What," the Superior said, smiling, "as though you were one of my own children, in spite of being a young lady of the world?"
"Oh, yes—if you'll let me," breathed Alex, looking up at the woman who had fascinated her with all the fervour of her ardent, unbalanced temperament in her gaze.
"My poor, lonely little Alex! You shall be my child then." The grave, lingering kiss on her forehead came like a consecration.
Alex went home that day in ecstasy. The whole force of her nature was once more directed into one channel, and she was happy.
One day she told Mother Gertrude, with the complete luxury of unreserve always characteristic of her reckless attachments, the story of her brief engagement to Noel Cardew.
The nun looked strangely at her. "So you had the courage to go against the wishes of your family and break it all off, little Alex?"
It seemed wonderful to Alex that the action which had been so condemned, and which she had long ceased to regard as anything but folly, should be praised as courageous.
"I wasn't happy," she faltered. "I used always to think that love, which one read about, made everything perfect when it came—but from the first moment of our engagement I knew it was all wrong somehow."