Had he heard of the visit? She clasped her hands in speechless terror.
Winterfield gently reassured her. "You must not be frightened," he said. "It is in the last degree unlikely that Mr. Romayne will ever find out that you were at my house. If he does--and if you deny it--I will do for you what I would do for no other human creature; I will deny it too. You are safe from discovery. Be happy--and forget me."
For the first time she showed signs of relenting--she turned her head away, and sighed. Although her mind was full of the serious necessity of warning him against Father Benwell, she had not even command enough over her own voice to ask how he had become acquainted with the priest. His manly devotion, the perfect and pathetic sincerity of his respect, pleaded with her, in spite of herself. For a moment she paused to recover her composure. In that moment Romayne returned to them with the drawing in his hand.
"There!" he said. "It's nothing, this time, but some children gathering flowers on the outskirts of a wood. What do you think of it?"
"What I thought of the larger work," Winterfield answered. "I could look at it by the hour together." He consulted his watch. "But time is a hard master, and tells me that my visit must come to an end. Thank you, most sincerely."
He bowed to Stella. Romayne thought his guest might have taken the English freedom of shaking hands. "When will you come and look at the pictures again?" he asked. "Will you dine with us, and see how they bear the lamplight?"
"I am sorry to say I must beg you to excuse me. My plans are altered since we met yesterday. I am obliged to leave London."
Romayne was unwilling to part with him on these terms. "You will let me know when you are next in town?" he said.
"Certainly!"
With that short answer he hurried away.
Romayne waited a little in the hall before he went back to his wife. Stella's reception of Winterfield, though not positively ungracious, was, nevertheless, the reverse of encouraging. What extraordinary caprice had made her insensible to the social attractions of a man so unaffectedly agreeable? It was not wonderful that Winterfield's cordiality should have been chilled by the cold welcome that he had received from the mistress of the house. At the same time, some allowance was to be made for the influence of Stella's domestic anxieties, and some sympathy was claimed by the state of her health. Although her husband shrank from distressing her by any immediate reference to her reception of his friend, he could not disguise from himself that she had disappointed him. When he went back to the room, Stella was lying on the sofa with her face turned toward the wall. She was in tears, and she was afraid to let him see it. "I won't disturb you," he said, and withdrew to his study. The precious volume which Winterfield had so kindly placed at his disposal was on the table, waiting for him.
Father Benwell had lost little by not being present at the introduction of Winterfield to Stella. He had witnessed a plainer betrayal of emotion when they met unexpectedly in Lord Loring's picture gallery. But if he had seen Romayne reading in his study, and Stella crying secretly on the sofa, he might have written to Rome by that day's post, and might have announced that he had sown the first seeds of disunion between husband and wife.
CHAPTER V.
FATHER BENWELL'S CORRESPONDENCE.
To the Secretary, S. J., Rome.
In my last few hasty lines I was only able to inform you of the unexpected arrival of Mrs. Romayne while Winterfield was visiting her husband. If you remember, I warned you not to attach any undue importance to my absence on that occasion. My present report will satisfy my reverend brethren that the interests committed to me are as safe as ever in my hands.
I have paid three visits, at certain intervals. The first to Winterfield (briefly mentioned in my last letter); the second to Romayne; the third to the invalid lady, Mrs. Eyrecourt. In every case I have been rewarded by important results.
We will revert to Winterfield first. I found him at his hotel, enveloped in clouds of tobacco smoke. Having led him, with some difficulty, into talking of his visit to Ten Acres Lodge, I asked how he liked Romayne's pictures.
"I envy him his pictures." That was the only answer.
"And how do you like Mrs. Romayne?" I inquired next.
He laid down his pipe, and looked at me attentively. My face (I flatter myself) defied discovery. He inhaled another mouthful of tobacco, and began to play with his dog. "If I must answer your question," he burst out suddenly, "I didn't get a very gracious reception from Mrs. Romayne." There he abruptly stopped. He is a thoroughly transparent man; you see straight into his mind, through his eyes. I perceived that he was only telling me a part (perhaps a very small part) of the truth.
"Can you account for such a reception as you describe?" I asked. He answered shortly, "No."
"Perhaps I can account for it," I went on. "Did Mr. Romayne tell his wife that I was the means of introducing you to him?"
He fixed another searching look on me. "Mr. Romayne might have said so when he left me to receive his wife at the door."
"In that case, Mr. Winterfield, the explanation is as plain as the sun at noonday. Mrs. Romayne is a strong Protestant, and I am a Catholic priest."
He accepted this method of accounting for his reception with an alacrity that would not have imposed on a child. You see I had relieved him from all further necessity of accounting for the conduct of Mrs. Romayne!
"A lady's religious prejudices," I proceeded in the friendliest way, "are never taken seriously by a sensible man. You have placed Mr. Romayne under obligations to your kindness--he is eager to improve his acquaintance with you. You will go again to Ten Acres Lodge?"
He gave me another short answer. "I think not."
I said I was sorry to hear it. "However," I added, "you can always see him here, when you are in London." He puffed out a big volume of smoke, and made no remark. I declined to be put down by silence and smoke. "Or perhaps," I persisted, "you will honor me by meeting him at a simple little dinner at my lodgings?" Being a gentleman, he was of course obliged to answer this. He said, "You are very kind; I would rather not. Shall we talk of something else, Father Benwell?"
We talked of something else. He was just as amiable as ever--but he was not in good spirits. "I think I shall run over to Paris before the end of the month," he said. "To make a long stay?" I asked. "Oh, no! Call in a week or ten days--and you will find me here again."
When I got up to go, he returned of his own accord to the forbidden subject. He said, "I must beg you to do me two favors. The first is, not to let Mr. Romayne know that I am still in London. The second is, not to ask me for any explanations."
The result of our interview may be stated in very few words. It has advanced me one step nearer to discovery. Winterfield's voice, look, and manner satisfied me of this--the true motive for his sudden change of feeling toward Romayne is jealousy of the man who has married Miss Eyrecourt.