he is much too honourable to be anything but in earnest, after paying such very obvious attention to an extremely young and inexperienced girl."
Both adjectives annoyed Zella considerably. One apparently on the verge of receiving a proposal of marriage could hardly be so very young and inexperienced as her aunt's tone implied.
"He and I have a great deal in common intellectually, of course," she observed haughtily. "He says I am the only person who has ever really understood him."
Well, dear, as his mother and father are still alive and particularly devoted to him, that is probably an exaggeration; but it was a natural enough thing to say, I dare say, if he thought it would please you. It shows I am right in feeling sure that he is very much in love with you. I am not very often mistaken about that sort of thing."
Mrs. Lloyd-Evans smiled a pensively reminiscent smile, and Zella continued to gaze out of the open window, with her thoughts in a strange tumult.
"I can't help thinking he means to propose to you, somehow. Of course, one doesn't want to advise you rashly, and, after all, it is your first proposal, and you are not twenty yet—though look at Muriel!"
Zella was again conscious of some vexation, and would have liked to hint at past conquests of which her aunt had heard nothing, but before anything of a convincing nature could be evolved Mrs. Lloyd-Evans began again.
"Of course there is the question of religion. I felt at the time, Zella, that it might be a great drawback to you later on, when the Sisters persuaded you into becoming a Roman Catholic, and it was very weak of poor papa to allow it. No, dear, I don't blame you in the least, and never did. As I said to Uncle Henry at the time, 'Zella is only an ignorant, impressionable child, and it is perfectly natural that she should be worked upon by all those priests and nuns; in fact, it was to be expected, especially with no mother to watch over her.' But all that is past and gone, and I don't want to speak about it. Only it does seem a pity, when husband and wife do not belong to the same Church, or, rather, when one of them belongs to the Church and the other does not. As I always say, How can two walk together unless they be agreed?"
"I don't think he would mind that a great deal. He is very broad-minded, and quite sees that there may be good in every creed. He told me so the other day. And if I don't object," said Zella proudly, "I can't see why he should."
"The cases are not at all the same," said Mrs. Lloyd-Evans warmly. "He is a member of the True Church, and the Church of this country. You, my poor child, have let yourself be inveigled into a foreign affair, that one can hardly call a Church at all, without even the excuse of having been born into it. But I don't want to say anything about that; what's done is done, and, after all, these things can always be arranged."
"It certainly won't be arranged by my changing my religion," said Zella, with some spirit.
"You are hardly in a position to talk like that, my dear child, since you have turned once already. And it would be much easier to come back into the Church than to go out of it, since you would have the approval of your own conscience, which I always think helps one more than anything. But it's no use talking about a thing that can't happen just yet."
"It will never happen," Zella interrupted, the more resolutely for the absence of any real feeling of indignation such as Reverend Mother would certainly have expected of her at the mere suggestion of ever renouncing the Catholic Faith.
"Even if it doesn't," pursued Mrs. Lloyd-Evans with perfect calm, "as I say, there are always ways of arranging these things. I don't suppose that the Pope of Rome himself would have the face to say that any chopping and changing of Churches on the part of a girl under age would count for anything."
"Then why do you want me to come back to the Church of England?" shrewdly demanded Zella.
But Mrs. Lloyd-Evans was not to be defeated in an argument, least of all by her niece.
"That would be a very different matter. The Pope would have nothing to do with it then," she truly observed, " and you would have your own friends and relations to help you. Blood is thicker than water, as you will find out as life goes on."
Zella could see no logic in these arguments, but neither could she think of any adequate reply with which to defeat them, beyond repeating feebly:
"But I couldn't ever be anything but a Catholic now, whatever happens; besides, I'm sure he wouldn't want me to."
"Very well, dear, all the better," said her aunt, apparently unaware that she was flatly contradicting all her previous conclusions. "Only, I do not think that Stephen Pontisbury is at all the sort of man to stand any * nonsense from priests and people."
"There wouldn't be any."
"You are too young to understand that there are certain questions which may arise later on, where one has seen a great deal of unhappiness and perplexity from the parents belonging to different Churches."
Mrs. Lloyd-Evans having accidentally betrayed the subject of her theme by the inadvertent introduction of the word " parents," there was nothing for it but to look slightly shocked, and continue in peculiarly hushed tones:
"Naturally, I shouldn't speak of these things, but that you have no mother, my poor child, and one longs to help you a little for your own sake and for that of dear Esmee. I feel that all these perplexities would not have arisen if she had been spared to us, since there would have been no question of that unfortunate business of your going to a convent. However, the ways of Providence are not our ways, and there may be some good purpose behind it all, odd though it seems," said Mrs. Lloyd-Evans doubtfully.
Zella reflected rather amazedly that the purpose for which Providence had led her to the convent would have seemed obvious to the point of blatancy, in the eyes of Reverend Mother. She asked herself for the hundredth time, "Which is really true? What is real?" and was aware that the very question would, to Catholic minds, have appeared as a temptation.
Her eyes grew introspective and unseeing, and Mrs. Lloyd-Evans said firmly:
"Darling, it is very late, and I can see you are getting sleepy. Go to bed, and don't worry about the question of religion. These things can always be arranged; a little something in the priest's pocket, and there will probably be no more question of coming between you and a happy marriage. Aunt Marianne can't help feeling that everything is going to come right."
The optimist rose from the armchair and went to the door.
"I'm very glad we've had a little talk, Zella dear, and you know Aunt Marianne is always there to help you when you want her."
Zella was too responsive not to say affectionately:
"Thank you, dear Aunt Marianne. I do know it, and I—I'm very glad you like him."
Mrs. Lloyd-Evans kissed her.
"Good-night, dear, or rather good-morning, since I always feel that the next day has begun after it has struck midnight. You must go to sleep quickly."
"I do want to decide rightly, if I have to decide," spoke Zella wistfully, feeling that, after all, Aunt Marianne was leaving no very substantial help behind her.
"I should say a little prayer about it, dear, if I were you. Now I must go, or Uncle Henry will be wondering if I mean to keep you up all night. Good-night, Zella dear."
Aunt Marianne vanished, but reappeared next moment at the door in order to add, in a slightly Scriptural
