“And the other is dead.”

“Sad for the father and mother, Miss Notman!”

“Pardon me, sad for the mother, no doubt.  The father died long since.”

“Aye? aye?  A sweet woman, the mother?  At least, I think I have heard so.”

Miss Notman shook her head.  “I should wish to guard myself against speaking unjustly of any one,” she said; “but when you talk of ’a sweet woman,’ you imply (as it seems to me) the domestic virtues.  Mrs. Eyrecourt is essentially a frivolous person.”

A frivolous person is, in the vast majority of cases, a person easily persuaded to talk, and not disposed to be reticent in keeping secrets.  Father Benwell began to see his way already to the necessary information.  “Is Mrs. Eyrecourt living in London?” he inquired.

“Oh, dear, no!  At this time of year she lives entirely in other people’s houses—­goes from one country seat to another, and only thinks of amusing herself.  No domestic qualities, Father. She would know nothing of the order of the dishes!  Lady Loring, I should have told you, gave way in the matter of the sweetbread.  It was only at quite the latter part of my ‘Menoo’ (as the French call it) that she showed a spirit of opposition—­well! well!  I won’t dwell on that.  I will only ask you, Father, at what part of a dinner an oyster-omelet ought to be served?”

Father Benwell seized his opportunity of discovering Mrs. Eyrecourt’s present address.  “My dear lady,” he said, “I know no more when the omelet ought to be served than Mrs. Eyrecourt herself!  It must be very pleasant, to a lady of her way of thinking, to enjoy the beauties of Nature inexpensively—­as seen in other people’s houses, from the point of view of a welcome guest.  I wonder whether she is staying at any country seat which I happen to have seen?”

“She may be in England, Scotland, or Ireland, for all I know,” Miss Notman answered, with an unaffected ignorance which placed her good faith beyond doubt.  “Consult your own taste, Father.  After eating jelly, cream, and ice-pudding, could you even look at an oyster-omelet without shuddering?  Would you believe it?  Her ladyship proposed to serve the omelet with the cheese.  Oysters, after sweets!  I am not (as yet) a married woman—­”

Father Benwell made a last desperate effort to pave the way for one more question before he submitted to defeat.  “That must be your fault, my dear lady!” he interposed, with his persuasive smile.

Miss Notman simpered.  “You confuse me, Father!” she said softly.

“I speak from inward conviction, Miss Notman.  To a looker-on, like myself, it is sad to see how many sweet women who might be angels in the households of worthy men prefer to lead a single life.  The Church, I know, exalts the single life to the highest place.  But even the Church allows exceptions to its rule.  Under this roof, for example, I think I see two exceptions.  One of them my unfeigned respect” (he bowed to Miss Notman) “forbids me to indicate more particularly.  The other seems, to my humble view, to be the young lady of whom we have been speaking.  Is it not strange that Miss Eyrecourt has never been married?”