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 from
indolence or discouragement. Now we may get on.

After an interval of a few days more I decided on making further
inquiries at Mrs. Eyrecourt's house. This time, when I left my card,
I sent a message, asking if the lady could receive me. Shall I own my
weakness? She possesses all the information that I want, and she has
twice baffled my inquiries. Under these humiliating circumstances, it is
part of the priestly pugnacity of my disposition to inquire again.

I was invited to go upstairs.

The front and back drawing-rooms of the house were thrown into one.
Mrs. Eyrecourt was being gently moved backward and forward in a chair
on wheels, propelled by her maid; two gentlemen being present, visitors
like myself. In spite of rouge and loosely folded lace and flowing
draperies, she presented a deplorable spectacle. The bodily part of her
looked like a dead woman, painted and revived--while the moral part, in
the strongest contrast, was just as lively as ever.

"So glad to see you again, Father Benwell, and so much obliged by your
kind inquiries. I am quite well, though the doctor won't admit it. Isn't
it funny to see me being wheeled about, like a child in a perambulator?
Returning to first principles, I call it. You see it's a law of my
nature that I must go about. The doctor won't let me go about outside
the house, so I go about inside the house. Matilda is the nurse, and I
am the baby who will learn to walk some of these days. Are you tired,
Matilda? No? Then give me another turn, there's a good creature.
Movement, perpetual movement, is a law of Nature. Oh, dear no, doctor;
I didn't make that discovery for myself. Some eminent scientific person
mentioned it in a lecture. The ugliest man I ever saw. Now back again,
Matilda. Let me introduce you to my friends, Father Benwell. Introducing
is out of fashion, I know. But I am one of the few women who can
resist the tyranny of fashion. I like introducing people. Sir John
Drone--Father Benwell. Father Benwell--Doctor Wybrow. Ah, yes, you know
the doctor by reputation? Shall I give you his character? Personally
charming; professionally detestable. Pardon my impudence, doctor, it is
one of the consequences of the overflowing state of my health. Another
turn, Matilda--and a little faster this time. Oh, how I wish I