"Yes, to have a name, for instance—not only the veil, but the name.
I have been thinking of a name for you—what do you think of
'Teresa'?"
"Teresa!" Evelyn answered. And her thoughts went to the great nun whose literature she had first read in the garden outside, when she walked there as a visitor. It was under a certain tree, where she had often sat since with Mother Hilda and the novices, that she had first read the "Autobiography" and "The Way of Perfection." There were the saints' poems, too; and, thinking of them, a pride awoke in her that for a time, at least, she should bear the saint's name. The Prioress was right, the saint's name would fortify her against her enemy; and her noviceship would be something to look back upon, and the memory of it would protect her when she left the convent.
"I am glad that we shall have you, at all events, for some months more with us—some months more for sure, perhaps always. But take time to consider it."
"Dear Mother, I am quite decided."
"Think it over. You can tell me your decision some time in the afternoon, or to-morrow."
It was a few days after that the Prioress took Evelyn up to the novitiate, where the novices were making the dress that Evelyn was to wear when she received the white veil.
"You see, Teresa, we spare no expense or trouble on your dress," said the Prioress.
"Oh, it is no trouble, dear Mother." And Sister Angela rose from her chair and turned the dress right side out and shook it, so that Evelyn might admire the handsome folds into which the silk fell.
"And see, here is the wreath," said Sister Jerome, picking up a wreath of orange-blossoms from a chair.
"And what do you think of your veil, Sister Teresa? Sister Rufina did this feather-stitch. Hasn't she done it beautifully?"