The trap had been elaborately set; Father Benwell had every reason to anticipate that Miss Notman would walk into it.  The disconcerting housekeeper walked up to it—­and then proved unable to advance a step further.

“I once made the same remark myself to Lady Loring,” she said.

Father Benwell’s pulse began to quicken its beat.  “Yes?” he murmured, in tones of the gentlest encouragement.

“And her ladyship,” Miss Notman proceeded, “did not encourage me to go on.  ‘There are reasons for not pursuing that subject,’ she said; ‘reasons into which, I am sure, you will not expect me to enter.’  She spoke with a flattering confidence in my prudence, which I felt gratefully.  Such a contrast to her tone when the omelet presented itself in the order of the dishes!  As I said just now I am not a married woman.  But if I proposed to my husband to give him an oyster-omelet after his puddings and his pies, I should not be surprised if he said to me, ’My dear, have you taken leave of your senses?’ I reminded Lady Loring (most respectfully) that a cheese-omelette might be in its proper place if it followed the sweets.  ‘An oyster-omelet,’ I suggested, ’surely comes after the birds?’ I should be sorry to say that her ladyship lost her temper—­I will only mention that I kept mine.  Let me repeat what she said, and leave you, Father, to draw your own conclusions.  She said, ’Which of us is mistress in this house, Miss Notman?  I order the oyster-omelet to come in with the cheese.’  There was not only irritability, there was contempt—­oh, yes! contempt in her tone.  Out of respect for myself, I made no reply.  As a Christian, I can forgive; as a wounded gentlewoman, I may not find it so easy to forget.”

Miss Notman laid herself back in her easy chair—­she looked as if she had suffered martyrdom, and only regretted having been obliged to mention it.  Father Benwell surprised the wounded gentlewoman by rising to his feet.

“You are not going away already, Father?”

“Time flies fast in your society, dear Miss Notman.  I have an engagement—­and I am late for it already.”

The housekeeper smiled sadly.  “At least let me hear that you don’t disapprove of my conduct under trying circumstances,” she said.

Father Benwell took her hand.  “A true Christian only feels offenses to pardon them,” he remarked, in his priestly and paternal character.  “You have shown me, Miss Notman, that you are a true Christian.  My evening has indeed been well spent.  God bless you!”

He pressed her hand; he shed on her the light of his fatherly smile; he sighed, and took his leave.  Miss Notman’s eyes followed him out with devotional admiration.

Father Benwell still preserved his serenity of temper when he was out of the housekeeper’s sight.  One important discovery he had made, in spite of the difficulties placed in his way.  A compromising circumstance had unquestionably occurred in Stella’s past life; and, in all probability, a man was in some way connected with it.  “My evening has not been entirely thrown away,” he thought, as he ascended the stairs which led from the housekeeper’s room to the hall.