My interview with Penrose was over in two minutes.  Dispensing with formality, I took his arm, and led him into the front garden.

“I have heard all about it,” I said; “and I must not deny that you have disappointed me.  But I know your disposition, and I make allowances.  You have qualities, dear Arthur, which perhaps put you a little out of place among us.  I shall be obliged to report what you have done—­but you may trust me to put it favorably.  Shake hands, my son, and, while we are still together, let us be as good friends as ever.”

You may think that I spoke in this way with a view to my indulgent language being repeated to Romayne, and so improving the position which I have already gained in his estimation.  Do you know, I really believe I meant it at the time!  The poor fellow gratefully kissed my hand when I offered it to him—­he was not able to speak.  I wonder whether I am weak about Arthur?  Say a kind word for him, when his conduct comes under notice—­but pray don’t mention this little frailty of mine; and don’t suppose I have any sympathy with his weak-minded submission to Mrs. Romayne’s prejudices.  If I ever felt the smallest consideration for her (and I cannot call to mind any amiable emotion of that sort), her letter to Winterfield would have effectually extinguished it.  There is something quite revolting to me in a deceitful woman.

In closing this letter, I may quiet the minds of our reverend brethren, if I assure them that my former objection to associating myself directly with the conversion of Romayne no longer exists.

Yes! even at my age, and with my habits, I am now resigned to hearing, and confuting, the trivial arguments of a man who is young enough to be my son.  I shall write a carefully-guarded letter to Romayne, on the departure of Penrose; and I shall send him a book to read, from the influence of which I expect gratifying results.  It is not a controversial work (Arthur has been beforehand with me there)—­it is Wiseman’s “Recollections of the Popes.”  I look to that essentially readable book to excite Romayne’s imagination, by vivid descriptions of the splendors of the Church, and the vast influence and power of the higher priesthood.  Does this sudden enthusiasm of mine surprise you?  And are you altogether at a loss to know what it means?

It means, my friend, that I see our position toward Romayne in a new light.  Forgive me, if I say no more for the present.  I prefer to be silent, until my audacity is justified by events.

* Father Benwell’s experience had, in this case, not misled him.  If Stella had remained unmarried, Winterfield might have justified himself.  But he was honorably unwilling to disturb her relations with her husband, by satisfying her that he had never been unworthy of the affection which had once united them.

CHAPTER V.

BERNARD WINTERFIELD’S CORRESPONDENCE.