Tales of the Cloister
The odor of mignonette and geranium floated to her from the old-fashioned flower-beds blossoming around her. In the trees above the peep of nestlings was heard—even here, where she had come for peace, the birds flaunted their domestic happiness in her face. She wondered whether she was getting a little morbid, and was glad the approach of Sister George interrupted her gloomy reverie. The nun sat down beside her with a smile of welcome, for the two had been friends for years and formal greetings no longer existed for them. It did not need an especially observant eye to see that something was very wrong with the young girl so dear to the nuns, and Sister George looked at her with an anxious sympathy in her glance.
"What is it now?" she asked, gently. "More trouble with Sarah McGuire, or have your plans for the model tenements proved unsatisfactory?"
The girl leaned her head against the lattice-work of the arbor, and a quizzical thought shot across her tired mind. Why approach the subject by devious ways? Why work up to it through Sarah McGuire and the tenements? Why not lay it before this old friend at once and tersely, even though the sudden revelation might startle the gentle nun? She spoke on the impulse.
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