"Are you sorry that I wish to be a nun?"
"Sorry, Sister Teresa? No, indeed. God has chosen you from the beginning as the means He would employ to save us; only I can't see you as a nun, always satisfied with the life here."
"Every one doesn't know from childhood what she is going to do. But you always knew your vocation, Veronica."
"I cannot imagine myself anything but a nun, and yet I am not always satisfied. Sometimes I am filled with longings for something which I cannot live without, yet I do not know what I want. It is an extraordinary feeling. Do you know what I mean, Sister?"
"Yes, dear, I think I do."
"It makes me feel quite faint, and it seizes me so suddenly. I have wanted to tell you for a long time, only I have not liked to. There are days when it makes me so restless that I cannot say my prayers, so I know the feeling must be wrong. Something in the quality of your voice stirs this feeling in me; your trill brings on this feeling worse than anything. You don't know what I mean?"
"Perhaps I do. But why do you ask?"
"Because your singing seems to affect no one as it does me…. I thought it might affect you in the same way—what is it?"
"I wouldn't worry, Veronica, you will get over it; it will pass."
"I hope it will." Evelyn felt that Veronica had not spoken all her mind, and that the incident was not closed. The novice's eyes were full of reverie, and behind her the open press exhaled a fragrance of lavender. "You see," she said, turning, "Father Ambrose is coming to-morrow. I wonder what he will think of you? He'll know if you have a vocation."