Page:Elizabeth Jordan--Tales of the cloister.djvu/167

 "Neither," she said, slowly. "It is a love affair." She turned her eyes from the smiling garden and fixed them on Sister George's face with much the same look they had held years before when she had childish confessions to make. The nun's cheeks flushed a delicate pink.

"Really?" she said, and gazed back incredulously. The opening was not encouraging, but the barriers of the other's self-control had been let down, and the recital poured out rapidly.

"Yes, it is," she said. "Don't despise me for it; don't think I am weak and foolish and that I am losing interest in my work and will give it up. Don t think that, for I shall refuse to marry—to-night I am to give him his answer. I have decided, and I think now I shall not even see him again." She broke into a little sob. "Oh, Sister," she added, "it is very hard." There was a volume of unconscious self-betrayal in the last sentence.

The nun stroked her bent head and stared absently at the smooth coils of hair under her hands. What could she say or do? What light had she for such a moment? They of the cloister had long doubted the child's continuance in her chosen career; not that they lacked faith in her, but because they knew the ways of life.