“Can you account for such a reception as you describe?” I asked.  He answered shortly, “No.”

“Perhaps I can account for it,” I went on.  “Did Mr. Romayne tell his wife that I was the means of introducing you to him?”

He fixed another searching look on me.  “Mr. Romayne might have said so when he left me to receive his wife at the door.”

“In that case, Mr. Winterfield, the explanation is as plain as the sun at noonday.  Mrs. Romayne is a strong Protestant, and I am a Catholic priest.”

He accepted this method of accounting for his reception with an alacrity that would not have imposed on a child.  You see I had relieved him from all further necessity of accounting for the conduct of Mrs. Romayne!

“A lady’s religious prejudices,” I proceeded in the friendliest way, “are never taken seriously by a sensible man.  You have placed Mr. Romayne under obligations to your kindness—­he is eager to improve his acquaintance with you.  You will go again to Ten Acres Lodge?”

He gave me another short answer.  “I think not.”

I said I was sorry to hear it.  “However,” I added, “you can always see him here, when you are in London.”  He puffed out a big volume of smoke, and made no remark.  I declined to be put down by silence and smoke.  “Or perhaps,” I persisted, “you will honor me by meeting him at a simple little dinner at my lodgings?” Being a gentleman, he was of course obliged to answer this.  He said, “You are very kind; I would rather not.  Shall we talk of something else, Father Benwell?”

We talked of something else.  He was just as amiable as ever—­but he was not in good spirits.  “I think I shall run over to Paris before the end of the month,” he said.  “To make a long stay?” I asked.  “Oh, no!  Call in a week or ten days—­and you will find me here again.”

When I got up to go, he returned of his own accord to the forbidden subject.  He said, “I must beg you to do me two favors.  The first is, not to let Mr. Romayne know that I am still in London.  The second is, not to ask me for any explanations.”

The result of our interview may be stated in very few words.  It has advanced me one step nearer to discovery.  Winterfield’s voice, look, and manner satisfied me of this—­the true motive for his sudden change of feeling toward Romayne is jealousy of the man who has married Miss Eyrecourt.  Those compromising circumstances which baffled the inquiries of my agent are associated, in plain English, with a love affair.  Remember all that I have told you of Romayne’s peculiar disposition—­and imagine, if you can, what the consequences of such a disclosure will be when we are in a position to enlighten the master of Vange Abbey!

As to the present relations between the husband and wife, I have only to tell you next what passed, when I visited Romayne a day or two later.  I did well to keep Penrose at our disposal.  We shall want him again.