“We talked of my wife, Father Benwell, the last time you were here.  You only knew, then, that her reception of Mr. Winterfield had determined him never to enter my house again.  By way of adding to your information on the subject of ‘petticoat government,’ I may now tell you that Mrs. Romayne has forbidden Penrose to proceed with the attempt to convert me.  By common consent, the subject is never mentioned between us.”  The bitter irony of his tone, thus far, suddenly disappeared.  He spoke eagerly and anxiously.  “I hope you are not angry with Arthur?” he said.

By this time my little fit of ill-temper was at an end.  I answered—­and it was really in a certain sense true—­“I know Arthur too well to be angry with him.”

Romayne seemed to be relieved.  “I only troubled you with this last domestic incident,” he resumed, “to bespeak your indulgence for Penrose.  I am getting learned in the hierarchy of the Church, Father Benwell!  You are the superior of my dear little friend, and you exercise authority over him.  Oh, he is the kindest and best of men!  It is not his fault.  He submits to Mrs. Romayne—­against his own better conviction—­in the honest belief that he consults the interests of our married life.”

I don’t think I misinterpret the state of Romayne’s mind, and mislead you, when I express my belief that this second indiscreet interference of his wife between his friend and himself will produce the very result which she dreads.  Mark my words, written after the closest observation of him—­this new irritation of Romayne’s sensitive self-respect will hasten his conversion.

You will understand that the one alternative before me, after what has happened, is to fill the place from which Penrose has withdrawn.  I abstained from breathing a word of this to Romayne.  It is he, if I can manage it, who must invite me to complete the work of conversion—­and, besides, nothing can be done until the visit of Penrose has come to an end.  Romayne’s secret sense of irritation may be safely left to develop itself, with time to help it.

I changed the conversation to the subject of his literary labors.

The present state of his mind is not favorable to work of that exacting kind.  Even with the help of Penrose to encourage him, he does not get on to his satisfaction—­and yet, as I could plainly perceive, the ambition to make a name in the world exercises a stronger influence over him than ever.  All in our favor, my reverend friend—­all in our favor!

I took the liberty of asking to see Penrose alone for a moment; and, this request granted, Romayne and I parted cordially.  I can make most people like me, when I choose to try.  The master of Vange Abbey is no exception to the rule.  Did I tell you, by-the-by, that the property has a little declined of late in value?  It is now not worth more than six thousand a year. We will improve it when it returns to the Church.