CHAPTER VII.

THE INFLUENCE OF STELLA.

ENTERING the hall, Father Benwell heard a knock at the house door.  The servants appeared to recognize the knock—­the porter admitted Lord Loring.

Father Benwell advanced and made his bow.  It was a perfect obeisance of its kind—­respect for Lord Loring, unobtrusively accompanied by respect for himself.  “Has your lordship been walking in the park?” he inquired.

“I have been out on business,” Lord Loring answered; “and I should like to tell you about it.  If you can spare me a few minutes, come into the library.  Some time since,” he resumed, when the door was closed, “I think I mentioned that my friends had been speaking to me on a subject of some importance—­the subject of opening my picture gallery occasionally to the public.”

“I remember,” said Father Benwell.  “Has your lordship decided what to do?”

“Yes.  I have decided (as the phrase is) to ‘go with the times,’ and follow the example of other owners of picture g alleries.  Don’t suppose I ever doubted that it is my duty to extend, to the best of my ability, the civilizing influences of Art.  My only hesitation in the matter arose from a dread of some accident happening, or some injury being done, to the pictures.  Even now, I can only persuade myself to try the experiment under certain restrictions.”

“A wise decision, undoubtedly,” said Father Benwell.  “In such a city as this, you could hardly open your gallery to anybody who happens to pass the house-door.”

“I am glad you agree with me, Father.  The gallery will be open for the first time on Monday.  Any respectably-dressed person, presenting a visiting card at the offices of the librarians in Bond Street and Regent Street, will receive a free ticket of admission; the number of tickets, it is needless to say, being limited, and the gallery being only open to the public two days in the week.  You will be here, I suppose, on Monday?”

“Certainly.  My work in the library, as your lordship can see, has only begun.”

“I am very anxious about the success of this experiment,” said Lord Loring.  “Do look in at the gallery once or twice in the course of the day, and tell me what your own impression is.”

Having expressed his readiness to assist “the experiment” in every possible way, Father Benwell still lingered in the library.  He was secretly conscious of a hope that he might, at the eleventh hour, be invited to join Romayne at the dinner-table.  Lord Loring only looked at the clock on the mantel-piece:  it was nearly time to dress for dinner.  The priest had no alternative but to take the hint, and leave the house.

Five minutes after he had withdrawn, a messenger delivered a letter for Lord Loring, in which Father Benwell’s interests were directly involved.  The letter was from Romayne; it contained his excuses for breaking his engagement, literally at an hour’s notice.