"But indeed, Mistress Davis, I would rather not wear silk. I would far rather dress as you do," said I, earnestly. "Silk attire is surely not for one like me, who hath nothing she may call her own. Please do not ask me to wear silk." "Well, well, it shall be as you please. But, dear love, do not let the thought of dependence worry you. Above all, let it not embitter you. Remember, we poor creatures are all dependent on each other, first, and last upon our Heavenly Father, who giveth to all his dear children what He sees best for them in particular. Now let me take your measure, and then, when we have some sewing ready, you shall bring your work down to the parlor, if you will." Mistress Davis's deft hands soon had some shifts ready for the needle. I had brought my working things from the convent, and I soon found myself in the very low chair in the bow-window, which had been mine so long ago. But alas, my dear aunt was no longer in her old place, which was filled by the much less substantial form of Mistress Davis, while Philippa's somber face and figure was but a poor representative of the beautiful twins, my cousins. I glanced at Philippa, now and again, as I pursued my work, and answered Mistress Davis's questions about my life in Dartford. She was a tall, well-made girl, and would have been handsome but for her formal manners, and the cold, and what I may call the arrogant expression of her large gray blue eyes, that looked as if she were taking ever one's measure and comparing it with some standard of her own. She was dressed in black, made as nearly as might be in conventual fashion, and wore conspicuously at her side a long rosary with a crucifix attached. Mistress Davis expressed a most kindly interest in our poor sisters, and hoped they had homes wherein to bestow themselves. I told her that I knew some of them had, and mentioned the prioress and Mother Joanna. "And yet the change will be very great for them," said she. "Poor things, one cannot but pity them." Philippa raised her head as if to speak, but at that moment Mistress Davis was called out of the room, and she addressed herself to me. "You seem to take the change easily enough, and even to enjoy it," said she. "Well, I do," I answered, frankly. "Of course, I was sorry to leave my old friends, especially as they were in so much trouble, but a convent life was never my choice for myself nor mine uncle's for me." "You had no real vocation, then?" "No, I think not; and indeed, I hardly know what it means," I answered. "I had!" said Philippa, proudly. "I have always had a vocation, ever since I was a child, but my father never would consent, or Master Davis either. I have money enough, however, and when I am twenty-two it will be all mine own. Then I can do as I like, and I shall go into a religious house directly." "From the way things are going there are not like to be many religious houses by that time," said I.