“You are looking ill, my dear Romayne.
Have you again heard the voice that haunts you?”
Romayne answered with evident reluctance.
“I don’t know why,” he said—“but the dread of hearing it again has oppressed me all this morning.
To tell you the truth, I came here in the hope that the change might relieve me.”
“Has it done so?”
“Yes—thus far.”
“Doesn’t that suggest, my friend, that a greater change might be of use to you?”
“Don’t ask me about it, Loring!
I can go through my ordeal—but I hate speaking of it.”
“Let us speak of something else then,” said Lord Loring.
“What do you think of Miss Eyrecourt?”
“A very striking face; full of expression and character.
Leonardo would have painted a noble portrait of her.
But there is something in her manner—” He stopped, unwilling or unable to finish the sentence.
“Something you don’t like?” Lord Loring suggested.
“No; something I don’t quite understand.
One doesn’t expect to find any embarrassment in the manner of a well-bred woman.
And yet she seemed to be embarrassed when she spoke to me.
Perhaps I produced an unfortunate impression on her.”
Lord Loring laughed.
“In any man but you, Romayne, I should call that affectation.”
“Why?” Romayne asked, sharply.
Lord Loring looked unfeignedly surprised.
“My dear fellow, do you really think you are the sort of man who impresses a woman unfavorably at first sight?
For once in your life, indulge in the amiable weakness of doing yourself justice—and find a better reason for Miss Eyrecourt’s embarrassment.”
For the first time since he and his friend had been talking together, Romayne turned toward Stella. He innocently caught her in the act of looking at him.
A younger woman, or a woman of weaker character, would have looked away again.
Stella’s noble head drooped; her eyes sank slowly, until they rested on her long white hands crossed upon her lap.
For a moment more Romayne looked at her with steady attention.
He roused himself, and spoke to Lord Loring in lowered tones.
“Have you known Miss Eyrecourt for a long time?”
“She is my wife’s oldest and dearest friend.
I think, Romayne, you would feel interested in Stella, if you saw more of her.”
Romayne bowed in silent submission to Lord Loring’s prophetic remark.
“Let us look at the pictures,” he said, quietly.
As he moved down the gallery, the two priests met him.
Father Benwell saw his opportunity of helping Penrose to produce a favorable impression.
“Forgive the curiosity of an old student, Mr. Romayne,” he said in his pleasant, cheerful way.
“Lord Loring tells me you have sent to the country for your books.
Do you find a London hotel favorable to study?”
“It is a very quiet hotel,” Romayne answered, “and the people know my ways.”
He turned to Arthur.
“I have my own set of rooms, Mr. Penrose,” he continued—“with a room at your disposal.
I used to enjoy the solitude of my house in the country.
My tastes have lately changed—there are times now when I want to see the life in the streets, as a relief.
Though we are in a hotel, I can promise that you will not be troubled by interruptions, when you kindly lend me the use of your pen.”
Father Benwell answered before Penrose could speak.
“You may perhaps find my young friend’s memory of some use to you, Mr. Romayne, as well as his pen.
Penrose has studied in the Vatican Library.