to his room thinking that the rest of his life would be
recollection. "She is still in the train, going away from me, intent
on her project, absorbed in her desire of a new life ... this
haunting which has come upon her."



III

And so it was. Evelyn lay back in the corner of the railway carriage
thinking about the poor people, and about the nuns, about herself,
about the new life which she was entering upon, and which was dearer
to her than anything else. She grew a little frightened at the
hardness of her heart. "It certainly does harden one's heart," she
said; "my heart is as hard as a diamond. But is my heart as hard as
a diamond?" The thought awoke a little alarm, and she sat looking
into the receding landscape. "Even so I cannot help it." And she
wondered how it was that only one thing in the world seemed to
matter--to extricate the nuns from their difficulties, that was all.
Her poor people, of course she liked them; her voice, she liked it
too, without, however, being able to feel certain that it interested
her as much as it used to, or that she was not prepared to sacrifice
it if her purpose demanded the sacrifice. But there was no question
of such sacrifice: it was given to her as the means whereby she
might effect her purpose. If the Glasgow concert were as successful
as the Edinburgh, she would be able to bring back some hundreds of
pounds to the nuns, perhaps a thousand. And what a pleasure that
would be to her!

But the Glasgow concert was not nearly so successful: her manager