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 ability" target="_blank" title="n.或有；可能性">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.
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 galleryoccasionally to the

public."
"I remember," said Father Benwell. "Has your lordshipdecided

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 secretlyconscious 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.

"Only yesterday," he wrote, "I had a return of what you, my dear
friend, call 'the delusion of the voice.' The nearer the hour of

your dinner approaches, the more keenly I fear that the same
thing may happen in your house. Pity me, and forgive me."

Even good-natured Lord Loring felt some difficulty in pitying and
forgiving, when he read these lines. "This sort of caprice might

be excusable in a woman," he thought. "A man ought really to be
capable of exercising some self-control. Poor Stella! And what

will my wife say?"
He walked up and down the library, with Stella's disappointment

and Lady Loring's indignation prophetically present in his mind.
There was, however, no help for it--he must accept his

responsibility, and be the bearer of the bad news.
He was on the point of leaving the library, when a visitor

appeared. The visitor was no less a person than Romayne himself.
"Have I arrived before my letter?" he asked eagerly.

Lord Loring showed him the letter.
"Throw it into the fire," he said, "and let me try to excuse

myself for having written it. You remember the happier days when
you used to call me the creature of impulse? An impulse produced

that letter. Another impulse brings me here to disown it. I can
only explain my strange conduct by asking you to help me at the

outset. Will you carry your memory back to the day of the medical
consultation on my case? I want you to correct me, if I

inadvertently misrepresent my advisers. Two of them were
physicians. The third, and last, was a surgeon, a personal friend

of yours; and _he_, as well as I recollect, told you how the
consultation ended?"

"Quite right, Romayne--so far."
"The first of the two physicians," Romayne proceeded, "declared

my case to be entirely attributable to nervous derangement, and
to be curable by purelymedical means. I speak ignorantly; but,

in plain English, that, I believe, was the substance of what he
said?"

"The substance of what he said," Lord Loring replied, "and the
substance of his prescriptions--which, I think, you afterward

tore up?"
"If you have no faith in a prescription," said Romayne, "that is,

in my opinion, the best use to which you can put it. When it came
to the turn of the second physician, he differed with the first,

as absolutely as one man can differ with another. The third
medical authority, your friend the surgeon, took a middle course,

and brought the consultation to an end by combining the first
physician's view and the second physician's view, and mingling

the two opposite forms of treatment in one harmonious result?"
Lord Loring remarked that this was not a very respectful way of