that that matters very much; old Lady Dawning hardly counts, now that
Molly has really great people as her friends, only little leaks let in
the water by degrees."

A pause, and then suddenly:

"Do you know Father Molyneux?"

"Yes," said Miss Carew, who was glad to change the subject. "He is very
charming."

"I didn't know he was a friend of Molly's."

"Oh! didn't you? She took a great fancy to him last autumn; he used to
come to luncheon."

"Did he come often?"

"Oh! I think so, but I don't remember exactly."

"And has he been coming here lately?"

"I really don't know. I have my meals by myself now; the hours were so
irregular, and I am too old and dull for Molly's friends. I know she
went to see him a few days ago, and she came back looking agitated. I
was rather glad--I thought it would be good for her, but I fear it was
not. She has been more excited, I think, these two or three days. Her
nerves are really quite overwrought; she allows herself no quiet. Yes;
she was very much excited after seeing Father Molyneux."

Miss Carew was talking more to herself than to Adela.

"I thought perhaps he had pressed her to become a Roman Catholic;
certainly he upset her in some way."

Adela's small eyes were like sharp points as she looked at the older
woman.

Then was it really true? Oh! no; surely not. But then, what else could
he have said to upset Molly?

At that moment Molly's maid came into the room.

"Miss Dexter has only just heard that you were here, madam. She is very
sorry you have been waiting. She wished me to say that she is obliged to
go immediately to a sale at Christie's, and would you be able to go with
her?"

Adela declined, perceiving that Molly was in no mind for a private talk,
and having parted affectionately from Miss Carew, went her way to have
a chat with Lady Dawning.

In the afternoon she met several of her Roman Catholic acquaintances at
a charity performance in a well-known garden, and she pumped all those
she could decoy in turn into a _tete-a-tete_ as to Father Molyneux. She
was in reality devoured with the wish to know the truth. She had her own
thin but genuine share of ideality, and she had been more impressed by
Mark's renouncement of Groombridge Castle than by anything she had met
with before.

But gradually, as she hunted the story, she gave him up, not because of
any evidence of any kind, but because she did not find him regarded as
anything very wonderful. She had