Frances wondered, not for the first time, whence was the source of the mysterious information that always seemed to be at Mrs. Mulholland’s finger-tips concerning the movements of the community, both individually and collectively.
“I knew I should find you here,” pursued the triumphant old voice. “I delayed coming down on purpose, so as to catch you. I knew, my dear. The novices always wait just here for the ‘Ave Maris Stella’ to begin—have done for years. I’ve seen about twenty prises d’habits in my time—some of them lay-sisters, some of them choir-sisters. One or two of them have left, you know, even after taking the holy Habit of the Order. One English novice we had went away just when she ought to have been taking her first vows. Found she had no real vocation, you know. But there’s no fear of that with you, my dear, is there? From the first time I saw you here for the Retreat last year, with that nice friend of yours who wasn’t a Catholic, poor thing, I always said ‘Miss Grantham has the vocation. Mark my words,’ I said, ‘Miss Grantham has the vocation. She’ll come back here one of these days,’ I said. And sure enough! Well, well, well, you look very happy, my dear, and in the right place.”
“I think so,” said Frances, smiling at her.
“That’s it, that’s it. Ah well, there’s nothing like God’s Holy Will,” said Mrs. Mulholland with an enthusiasm which was none the less ardent for sounding strangely vague. “If He’d thought fit to call me to the religious life—but no doubt I wasn’t worthy. That’s what I always say—not worthy.”
Mrs. Mulholland’s voice became cheerfully resigned. “But there it is,” she said with the air of one reaching a conclusion, “there it is. One is taken, and the other left. And your dear sister here for the ceremony and all.”
“Please pray for her, that she mayn’t mind too much,” said Frances, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. “She isn’t a Catholic.”
“Ah well, the sacrifice that you’re both making may bring a blessing on her—no doubt it will. And tell me, my dear, what about that nice friend of yours, Mrs. Severing, who came for the Retreat last year? I hoped we were going to see her to-day.”
“She couldn’t come, but she wrote to me.”
“Ah! Couldn’t leave the poor son, I dare say. Very likely—ve-ry likely,” said Mrs. Mulholland with lugubrious sagacity. “But she’ll have your good prayers, my dear, and you know you’ll never be refused anything on your clothing day. That’s really what I came to ask you—to say a little word for a very special intention of mine. Will you do that, my dear?”
“Of course I will,” said Frances, gently and cordially.