Mrs. Eyrecourt asked,
looking up from her book.

"Lewis is staying in town," Stella answered listlessly.

"In company with Judas Iscariot?"

Stella was too dull to immediately understand the allusion. "Do you mean
Father Benwell?" she inquired.

"Don't mention his name, my dear. I have re-christened him on purpose
to avoid it. Even his name humiliates me. How completely the fawning old
wretch took me in--with all my knowledge of the world, too! He was so
nice and sympathetic--such a comforting contrast, on that occasion,
to you and your husband--I declare I forgot every reason I had for
not trusting him. Ah, we women are poor creatures--we may own it among
ourselves. If a man only has nice manners and a pleasant voice, how
many of us can resist him? Even Romayne imposed upon me--assisted by his
property, which in some degree excuses my folly. There is nothing to be
done now, Stella, but to humor him. Do as that detestable priest does,
and trust to your beauty (there isn't as much of it left as I could
wish) to turn the scale in your favor. Have you any idea when the new
convert will come back? I heard him ordering a fish dinner for himself,
yesterday--because it was Friday. Did you join him at dessert-time,
profanely supported by meat? What did he say?"

"What he has said more than once already, mama. His peace of mind
is returning, thanks to Father Benwell. He was perfectly gentle and
indulgent--but he looked as if he lived in a different world from mine.
He told me he proposed to pass a week in, what he called, Retreat. I
didn't ask him what it meant. Whatever it is, I suppose he is there
now."

"My dear, don't you remember your sister began in the same way? _She_
retreated. We shall have Romayne with a red nose and a double chin,
offering to pray for us next! Do you recollect that French maid of
mine--the woman I sent away, because she would spit, when she was out
of temper, like a cat? I begin to think I treated the poor creature
harshly. When I hear of Romayne and his Retreat, I almost feel inclined
to spit, myself. There! let us go on with your reading. Take the first
volume--I have done with it."

"What is it, mama?"

"A very remarkable work, Stella, in the present state of light
literature in England--a novel that actually tells a story. It's quite
incredible, I know. Try the book. It has another extraordinary merit--it
isn't written by a woman."

Stella obediently received the first volume, turned o