can't find another reason, how can I? It must have been a sudden
antipathy, as you say. Such things do happen between strangers. I
suppose I am right in assuming that Mrs. Romayne and Mr.
Winterfield are strangers?"
His eyes flashed with a sudden
sinister brightness--the new idea
had caught light in his mind. "They _met_ as strangers," he said.
There he stopped again, and returned to the window. I felt that I
might lose the place I had gained in his confidence if I pressed
the subject any further. Besides, I had my reasons for
saying a
word about Penrose next. As it happened, I had received a letter
from him, relating to his present
employment, and sending kindest
regards to his dear friend and master in the postscript.
I gave the message. Romayne looked round, with an
instant change
in his face. The mere sound of Penrose's name seemed to act as a
relief to the gloom and
suspicion that had oppressed him the
moment before. "You don't know how I miss the dear gentle little
fellow," he said, sadly.
"Why not write to him?" I suggested. "He would be so glad to hear
from you again."
"I don't know where to write."
"Did I not send you his address when I forwarded your letter to
him?"
"No."
"Then let me atone for my
forgetfulness at once."
I wrote down the address, and took my leave.
As I approached the door I noticed on a side table the Catholic
volumes which Penrose left with Romayne. One of them was open,
with a pencil lying beside it. I thought that a good sign--but I
said nothing.
Romayne pressed my hand at
parting. "You have been very kind and
friendly, Father Benwell," he said. "I shall be glad to see you
again."
Don't mention it in quarters where it might do me harm. Do you
know, I really pitied him. He has sacrificed everything to his
marriage--and his marriage has disappointed him. He was even
reduced to be friendly with Me.
Of course when the right time comes I shall give Penrose leave of
absence. Do you
foresee, as I do, the
speedy return of "the dear
gentle little fellow" to his old
employment; the resumed work of
conversion advancing more rapidly than ever; and the
jealousy of
the Protestant wife aggravating the false position in which she
is already placed by her equivocal
reception of Winterfield? You
may answer this by reminding me of the darker side of the
prospect. An heir may be born; and the heir's mother, backed by
general opinion, may insist--if there is any
hesitation in the
matter--on asserting the boy's natural right to succeed his
father.
Patience, my
reverend colleague! There is no threatening of any
such
calamity yet. And, even if it happens, don't forget that
Romayne has inherited a second fortune. The Vange
estate has an
estimated value. If the act of restitution represented that value
in ready money, do you think the Church would
discourage a good
convert by refusing his check? You know better than that--and so
do I.
----
The next day I called to inquire how Mrs. Eyrecourt was getting
on. The report was
favorable. Three days later I called again.
The report was still more encouraging. I was also informed that
Mrs. Romayne had returned to Ten Acres Lodge.
Much of my success in life has been achieved by never being in a
hurry. I was not in a hurry now. Time sometimes brings
opportunities--and opportunities are worth
waiting for.
Let me make this clear by an example.
A man of
headlongdisposition, in my place, would have probably
spoken of Miss Eyrecourt's marriage to Romayne at his first
meeting with Winterfield, and would have excited their distrust,
and put them
respectively on their guard, without obtaining any
useful result. I can, at any time, make the disclosure to Romayne
which informs him that his wife had been Winterfield's guest in
Devonshire, when she
affected to meet her former host on the
footing of a stranger. In the
meanwhile, I give Penrose ample
opportunity for
innocently widening the
breach between husband
and wife.
You see, I hope, that if I
maintain a
passive position, it is not