“You were mortified, and I was surprised,” he went on, “when Mr. Winterfield dropped his acquaintance with you.  We now know that he acted like an honorable man.”

He waited to see what effect he had produced.  Romayne was in no state of mind to do justice to Winterfield or to any one.  His pride was mortally wounded; his high sense of honor and delicacy writhed under the outrage inflicted on it.

“And mind this,” Father Benwell persisted, “poor human nature has its right to all that can be justly conceded in the way of excuse and allowance.  Miss Eyrecourt would naturally be advised by her friends, would naturally be eager, on her own part, to keep hidden from you what happened at Brussels.  A sensitive woman, placed in a position so horribly false and degrading, must not be too severely judged, even when she does wrong.  I am bound to say this—­and more.  Speaking from my own knowledge of all the parties, I have no doubt that Miss Eyrecourt and Mr. Winterfield did really part at the church door.”

Romayne answered by a look—­so disdainfully expressive of the most immovable unbelief that it absolutely justified the fatal advice by which Stella’s worldly-wise friends had encouraged her to conceal the truth.  Father Benwell prudently closed his lips.  He had put the case with perfect fairness—­his bitterest enemy could not have denied that.

Romayne took up the second paper, looked at it, and threw it back again on the table with an expression of disgust.

“You told me just now,” he said, “that I was married to the wife of another man.  And there is the judge’s decision, releasing Miss Eyrecourt from her marriage to Mr. Winterfield.  May I ask you to explain yourself?”

“Certainly.  Let me first remind you that you owe religious allegiance to the principles which the Church has asserted, for centuries past, with all the authority of its divine institution.  You admit that?”

“I admit it.”

“Now, listen!  In our church, Romayne, marriage is even more than a religious institution—­it is a sacrament.  We acknowledge no human laws which profane that sacrament.  Take two examples of what I say.  When the great Napoleon was at the height of his power, Pius the Seventh refused to acknowledge the validity of the Emperor’s second marriage to Maria Louisa—­while Josephine was living, divorced by the French Senate.  Again, in the face of the Royal Marriage Act, the Church sanctioned the marriage of Mrs. Fitzherbert to George the Fourth, and still declares, in justice to her memory, that she was the king’s lawful wife.  In one word, marriage, to be marriage at all, must be the object of a purely religious celebration—­and, this condition complied with, marriage is only to be dissolved by death.  You remember what I told you of Mr. Winterfield?”

“Yes.  His first marriage took place before the registrar.”

“In plain English, Romayne, Mr. Winterfield and the woman-rider in the circus pronounced a formula of words before a layman in an office.  That is not only no marriage, it is a blasphemous profanation of a holy rite.  Acts of Parliament which sanction such proceedings are acts of infidelity.  The Church declares it, in defense of religion.”