"And Sister Rufina is making your wedding-cake. Mother Philippa has told her to put in as many raisins and currants as she pleases. Yours will be the richest cake we have ever had in the convent." Sister Angela spoke very demurely, for she was thinking of the portion of the cake that would come to her, and there was a little gluttony in her voice as she spoke of the almond paste it would have upon it.
"It is indeed a pity," said Sister Jerome, "that Sister Teresa's clothing takes place so early in the year."
"How so, Sister Jerome?" Evelyn asked incautiously.
"Because if it had been a little later, or if Monsignor had not been delayed in Rome—I only thought," she added, stopping short, "that you would like Monsignor to give you the white veil—it would be nicer for you; or if the Bishop gave it," she added, "or Father Ambrose. I am sure Sister Veronica never would have been a nun at all if Father Ambrose had not professed her. Father Daly is such a little frump."
"That will do, children; I cannot really allow our chaplain to be spoken of in that manner." And Mother Hilda looked at Evelyn, thinking, "Well, the Prioress has had her way with her."
The recreation-bell rang, and the novices clattered down the stairs of the novitiate, their childish eagerness rousing Evelyn from the mild stupor which still seemed to hang about her mind; and she smiled at the novices and at herself, for suddenly it had all begun to seem to her like a scene in a play, herself going to take the white veil and to become a nun, at all events, for a while. "Now, how is all this to end?" she asked herself. "But what does it matter?" Clouds seemed to envelop her mind again, and she acquiesced when the Prioress said:
"I think your retreat had better begin to-day."
"When, Mother?"
"Well, from this moment."
"If Teresa will come into the garden with me," said Mother Hilda.