"And how long have ye thought ye had no real vocation?"
There was the slightest possible discernible tinge of kindly derision in the inquiry.
It gave the final touch to her disconcertment.
"I don't know."
She felt the folly of her reply even before the priest's laugh, tinged with a sort of vexed contempt, rang through the room.
"Now, me dear child, this is perfect nonsense, let me tell ye. Did ye ever hear the like of such folly? No real vocation, and here ye've been a professed religious for—how long is it?"
"Nearly four years since I was finally professed, but—"
"There's no but about it, Sister. A vow made to Our Blessed Lord, I'd have ye know, is not like an old glove, to be thrown away when ye think ye're tired of it. No, no, Sister, that'll not be the way of it. Ye'll get over this, me dear child, with a little faith and perseverance. It's just a temptation, that ye've perhaps been giving way to, owing to fatigue and ill health. Ye feel it's all too hard for ye, is that it?"
"No," said Alex frantically, "that's not it. It's nothing like that. It's that I can't bear this way of living any longer. I want a home, and to be allowed to care for people, and to have friends again—I can't live by myself."
She knew that she had voiced the truth as she knew it, and covered her face with her hands in dread lest it might fail to reach his perceptions.