His voice, too, was big and bluff and hearty, full of decision, the voice of a man accustomed to the command of men.
He pushed a chair forward and motioned her, with a quick, imperious gesture that yet held kindness, to sit down.
He himself stood, towering over her, by the window.
"Well, now, what's all the trouble, Sister?"
There was the suspicion of a brogue in his cultivated tones.
Alex made a tremendous effort. She told herself that he could not help her unless she told him the truth.
She said, as she had said to the French Superior:
"I am very unhappy—I want to be released from my vows as a nun."
The priest gave her one very quick, penetrating look, and his thick eyebrows went up into his hair for an instant, but he did not speak.
"I don't think I have ever had any—any real vocation," said Alex, whitening from the effort of an admission that she knew he must regard as degrading.