that he has maintained the same reserve
with Mrs. Romayne.

My visit to the Lodge was duly paid this afternoon.

I asked first, of course, for the lady of the house, and hearing she was
in the grounds, joined her there. She looked ill and anxious, and she
received me with rigid politeness. Fortunately, Mrs. Eyrecourt (now
convalescent) was staying at Ten Acres, and was then taking the air
in her chair on wheels. The good lady's nimble and discursive tongue
offered me an opportunity of referring, in the most innocent manner
possible, to Winterfield's favorable opinion of Romayne's pictures. I
need hardly say that I looked at Romayne's wife when I mentioned the
name. She turned pale--probably fearing that I had some knowledge of
her letter warning Winterfield not to trust me. If she had already been
informed that he was not to be blamed, but to be pitied, in the matter
of the marriage at Brussels, she would have turned red. Such, at least,
is my experience, drawn from recollections of other days. *

The ladies having served my purpose, I ventured into the house, to pay
my respects to Romayne.

He was in the study, and his excellent friend and secretary was with
him. After the first greetings Penrose left us. His manner told me
plainly that there was something wrong. I asked no questions--waiting on
the chance that Romayne might enlighten me.

"I hope you are in better spirits, now that you have your old companion
with you," I said.

"I am very glad to have Penrose with me," he answered. And then he
frowned and looked out of the window at the two ladies in the grounds.

It occurred to me that Mrs. Eyrecourt might be occupying the customary
false position of a mother-in-law. I was mistaken. He was not thinking
of his wife's mother--he was thinking of his wife.

"I suppose you know that Penrose had an idea of converting me?" he said,
suddenly.

I was perfectly candid with him--I said I knew it, and approved of it.
"May I hope that Arthur has succeeded in convincing you?" I ventured to
add.

"He might have succeeded, Father Benwell, if he had chosen to go on."

This reply, as you may easily imagine, took me by surprise.

"Are you really so obdurate that Arthur despairs of your conversion?" I
asked.

"Nothing of the sort! I have thought and thought of it--and I can tell
you I was more than ready to meet him half way."

"Then where is the obstacle?" I exclaimed.

He pointed through the window to his wife. "T