Romayne interrupted her without ceremony. "Favor me," he said,
addressing his wife, "by inducing Mrs. Eyrecourt to continue her
narrative in some other room."

Stella was hardly conscious of what her mother or her husband had
said. She felt that the priest's eyes were on her. Under any other
circumstances, Father Benwell's good breeding and knowledge of the world
would have impelled him to take his departure. As things were, he knew
perfectly well that the more seriously Romayne was annoyed, in his
presence, the better his own private interests would be served.
Accordingly, he stood apart, silently observant of Stella. In spite
of Winterfield's reassuring reply to her letter, Stella instinctively
suspected and dreaded the Jesuit. Under the spell of those watchful
eyes she trembled inwardly; her customary tact deserted her; she made an
indirect apology to the man whom she hated and feared.

"Whatever my mother may have said to you, Father Benwell, has been
without my knowledge."

Romayne attempted to speak, but Father Benwell was too quick for him.

"Dear Mrs. Romayne, nothing has been said which needs any disclaimer on
your part."

"I should think not!" Mrs. Eyrecourt added. "Really, Stella, I don't
understand you. Why may I not say to Father Benwell what you said to Mr.
Penrose? You trusted Mr. Penrose as your friend. I can tell you this--I
am quite sure you may trust Father Benwell."

Once more Romayne attempted to speak. And, once more, Father Benwell was
beforehand with him.

"May I hope," said the priest, with a finely ironical smile, "that Mrs.
Romayne agrees with her excellent mother?"

With all her fear of him, the exasperating influence of his tone and his
look was more than Stella could endure. Before she could restrain them,
the rash words flew out of her lips.

"I am not sufficiently well acquainted with you, Father Benwell, to
express an opinion."

With that answer, she took her mother's arm and left the room.

The moment they were alone, Romayne turned to the priest, trembling
with anger. Father Benwell, smiling indulgently at the lady's little
outbreak, took him by the hand, with peace-making intentions, "Now
don't--pray don't excite yourself!"

Romayne was not to be pacified in that way. His anger was trebly
intensified by the long-continued strain on his nerves of the effort to
control himself.

"I must, and will, speak out at last!" he said. "Father Benwell, the
ladies of my househ