ly a single anachronism. The Martin de Vaux of forty years ago
had been an artist, and a man of taste; and when he had brought home
his bride, a duke's daughter, he had spent a small fortune on this
apartment. Since then it had always been her favourite, and she was
always glad to hear any one praise it.

"I seldom sit in any other," she remarked complacently. "The blue
drawing-room is open to-night, but that is because Lord and Lady
Westover are dining here. I am afraid May will not be able to come;
she has a cold or something of the sort. I wonder whether it is true,
what they say, that she is delicate."

Paul did not appear much interested. He had a purpose in lingering
here, and it had nothing to do with May Westover's health. There was
a little information he wished to obtain without exciting his mother's
curiosity. But it was not exactly an easy matter.

"I was interested in what you said about the visitors here,"
he remarked. "I daresay to Americans this place must be very
interesting."

"You would think so if you saw some of them. They are a great deal too
inquisitive and familiar for Reynolds. He detests them. It is far more
interesting to think of that Catholic priest who was here the other
day. He lingered about the place as though he had known it all his
life, and loved it; and, Reynolds says, he prayed for two hours in the
chapel."

"Did you see him yourself?"

"Yes, in the distance. I did not notice him particularly. I wished
afterwards that I had. Reynolds' report of him pleased me so much. I
daresay he was conjuring up pictures of the days when the old Abbey
was full of grey-hooded monks, and the chapel was echoing day and
night to their solemn chants and prayers. Sometimes, in the gloaming,
I can almost fancy myself that I see them kneeling in long rows in
those rich stalls, and hear the rustle of their gowns as they pass
slowly down the aisles. I think he must have found it sad to linger
about in that beautiful chapel, so cold, and empty, and bare. That
is why I like Roman Catholics. They have such a strong reverential
affection for their places of worship, and take such a delight in
adorning them. It is almost like a personal love."

Paul moved uneasily in his chair and looked steadily into the fire.
"Then you did not notice him particularly?"

"Notice him! Notice whom?"

"This priest, or whoever he was."

"I did not see his face, Paul, if that is what you mean. I only
remember that he w