“I must, and will, speak out at last!” he said.  “Father Benwell, the ladies of my household have inexcusably presumed on the consideration which is due to women.  No words can say how ashamed I am of what has happened.  I can only appeal to your admirable moderation and patience to accept my apologies, and the most sincere expression of my regret.”

“No more, Mr. Romayne!  As a favor to Me, I beg and entreat you will say no more.  Sit down and compose yourself.”

But Romayne was impenetrable to the influence of friendly and forgiving demonstrations.  “I can never expect you to enter my house again!” he exclaimed.

“My dear sir, I will come and see you again, with the greatest pleasure, on any day that you may appoint—­the earlier day the better.  Come! come! let us laugh.  I don’t say it disrespectfully, but poor dear Mrs. Eyrecourt has been more amusing than ever.  I expect to see our excellent Archbishop to-morrow, and I must really tell him how the good lady felt insulted when her Catholic daughter offered to pray for her.  There is hardly anything more humorous, even in Moliere.  And the double chin, and the red nose—­all the fault of those dreadful Papists.  Oh, dear me, you still take it seriously.  How I wish you had my sense of humor!  When shall I come again, and tell you how the Archbishop likes the story of the nun’s mother?”

He held out his hand with irresistible cordiality.  Romayne took it gratefully—­still bent, however, on making atonement.

“Let me first do myself the honor of calling on You,” he said.  “I am in no state to open my mind—­as I might have wished to open it to you—­after what has happened.  In a day or two more—­”

“Say the day after to-morrow,” Father Benwell hospitably suggested.  “Do me a great favor.  Come and eat your bit of mutton at my lodgings.  Six o’clock, if you like—­and some remarkably good claret, a present from one of the Faithful.  You will?  That’s hearty!  And do promise me to think no more of our little domestic comedy.  Relieve your mind.  Look at Wiseman’s ‘Recollections of the Popes.’  Good-by—­God bless you!”

The servant who opened the house door for Father Benwell was agreeably surprised by the Papist’s cheerfulness.  “He isn’t half a bad fellow,” the man announced among his colleagues.  “Give me half-a-crown, and went out humming a tune.”

CHAPTER VIII.

FATHER BENWELL’S CORRESPONDENCE

To the Secretary, S. J., Rome.

I.

I BEG to acknowledge the receipt of your letter.  You mention that our Reverend Fathers are discouraged at not having heard from me for more than six weeks, since I reported the little dinner given to Romayne at my lodgings.

I am sorry for this, and more than sorry to hear that my venerated brethren are beginning to despair of Romayne’s conversion.  Grant me a delay of another week—­and, if the prospects of the conversion have not sensibly improved in that time, I will confess myself defeated.  Meanwhile, I bow to superior wisdom, without venturing to add a word in my own defense.