With that short answer he hurried away.

Romayne waited a little in the hall before he went back to his wife.  Stella’s reception of Winterfield, though not positively ungracious, was, nevertheless, the reverse of encouraging.  What extraordinary caprice had made her insensible to the social attractions of a man so unaffectedly agreeable?  It was not wonderful that Winterfield’s cordiality should have been chilled by the cold welcome that he had received from the mistress of the house.  At the same time, some allowance was to be made for the influence of Stella’s domestic anxieties, and some sympathy was claimed by the state of her health.  Although her husband shrank from distressing her by any immediate reference to her reception of his friend, he could not disguise from himself that she had disappointed him.  When he went back to the room, Stella was lying on the sofa with her face turned toward the wall.  She was in tears, and she was afraid to let him see it.  “I won’t disturb you,” he said, and withdrew to his study.  The precious volume which Winterfield had so kindly placed at his disposal was on the table, waiting for him.

Father Benwell had lost little by not being present at the introduction of Winterfield to Stella.  He had witnessed a plainer betrayal of emotion when they met unexpectedly in Lord Loring’s picture gallery.  But if he had seen Romayne reading in his study, and Stella crying secretly on the sofa, he might have written to Rome by that day’s post, and might have announced that he had sown the first seeds of disunion between husband and wife.

CHAPTER V.

FATHER BENWELL’S CORRESPONDENCE.

To the Secretary, S. J., Rome.

In my last few hasty lines I was only able to inform you of the unexpected arrival of Mrs. Romayne while Winterfield was visiting her husband.  If you remember, I warned you not to attach any undue importance to my absence on that occasion.  My present report will satisfy my reverend brethren that the interests committed to me are as safe as ever in my hands.

I have paid three visits, at certain intervals.  The first to Winterfield (briefly mentioned in my last letter); the second to Romayne; the third to the invalid lady, Mrs. Eyrecourt.  In every case I have been rewarded by important results.

We will revert to Winterfield first.  I found him at his hotel, enveloped in clouds of tobacco smoke.  Having led him, with some difficulty, into talking of his visit to Ten Acres Lodge, I asked how he liked Romayne’s pictures.

“I envy him his pictures.”  That was the only answer.

“And how do you like Mrs. Romayne?” I inquired next.

He laid down his pipe, and looked at me attentively.  My face (I flatter myself) defied discovery.  He inhaled another mouthful of tobacco, and began to play with his dog.  “If I must answer your question,” he burst out suddenly, “I didn’t get a very gracious reception from Mrs. Romayne.”  There he abruptly stopped.  He is a thoroughly transparent man; you see straight into his mind, through his eyes.  I perceived that he was only telling me a part (perhaps a very small part) of the truth.