"Then why can't mine allow me? Unless I can be a Saint I don't care to be a religious at all. I wish I could go somewhere else—to some of the strict houses which Sister Catherine and Mother Mary Monica tell us of—and then I might have a chance, perhaps."
"And would you leave Mother Gertrude—the only relation you have in the world?" I asked her.
"A religious has naught to do with family affection, Rosamond. Ought I not to disregard every earthly tie, if thereby I can advance toward holiness?"
The bell sounded for vespers just then, so we could talk no more; but I am very much puzzled. I am sure my father and my own relations must always be more to me than any one else can be. It does not seem to me either as if Amice were going to work in the right way to be a Saint. I think a real Saint would be the last person to know that he was one.
When we met at supper, Sister Catherine remained on her knees in a corner all the time we were eating, and when we had finished, she kissed the feet of each of us as we went out, and begged our pardon for her many offences.
"See how humble dear Sister Catherine is," said Sister Mary Paula. "She begged to be allowed to perform this public penance because she said she had sinned against charity."
I suppose it was very good of her, but I can't help thinking it would have been more really humble if she had repented and apologized in private. It seems to me that such a show of humility might make one proud of being humble. But I dare say she is right and I am wrong.
