In an instant she remembered that Father Benwell had been at Beaupark House.
Had he heard of the visit?
She clasped her hands in speechless terror.
Winterfield gently reassured her.
“You must not be frightened,” he said.
“It is in the last degree unlikely that Mr. Romayne will ever find out that you were at my house.
If he does—and if you deny it—I will do for you what I would do for no other human creature; I will deny it too.
You are safe from discovery.
Be happy—and forget me.”
For the first time she showed signs of relenting—she turned her head away, and sighed.
Although her mind was full of the serious necessity of warning him against Father Benwell, she had not even command enough over her own voice to ask how he had become acquainted with the priest. His manly devotion, the perfect and pathetic sincerity of his respect, pleaded with her, in spite of herself.
For a moment she paused to recover her composure.
In that moment Romayne returned to them with the drawing in his hand.
“There!” he said.
“It’s nothing, this time, but some children gathering flowers on the outskirts of a wood.
What do you think of it?”
“What I thought of the larger work,” Winterfield answered.
“I could look at it by the hour together.”
He consulted his watch.
“But time is a hard master, and tells me that my visit must come to an end.
Thank you, most sincerely.”
He bowed to Stella.
Romayne thought his guest might have taken the English freedom of shaking hands.
“When will you come and look at the pictures again?” he asked.
“Will you dine with us, and see how they bear the lamplight?”
“I am sorry to say I must beg you to excuse me. My plans are altered since we met yesterday.
I am obliged to leave London.”
Romayne was unwilling to part with him on these terms.
“You will let me know when you are next in town?” he said.
“Certainly!”
With that short answer he hurried away.
Romayne waited a little in the hall before he went back to his wife.
Stella’s reception of Winterfield, though not positively ungracious, was, nevertheless, the reverse of encouraging.
What extraordinary caprice had made her insensible to the social attractions of a man so unaffectedly agreeable?
It was not wonderful that Winterfield’s cordiality should have been chilled by the cold welcome that he had received from the mistress of the house.
At the same time, some allowance was to be made for the influence of Stella’s domestic anxieties, and some sympathy was claimed by the state of her health.
Although her husband shrank from distressing her by any immediate reference to her reception of his friend, he could not disguise from himself that she had disappointed him.
When he went back to the room, Stella was lying on the sofa with her face turned toward the wall.
She was in tears, and she was afraid to let him see it.
“I won’t disturb you,” he said, and withdrew to his study.
The precious volume which Winterfield had so kindly placed at his disposal was on the table, waiting for him.
Father Benwell had lost little by not being present at the introduction of Winterfield to Stella.
He had witnessed a plainer betrayal of emotion when they met unexpectedly in Lord Loring’s picture gallery.
But if he had seen Romayne reading in his study, and Stella crying secretly on the sofa, he might have written to Rome by that day’s post, and might have announced that he had sown the first seeds of disunion between husband and wife.
CHAPTER V. FATHER BENWELL’S CORRESPONDENCE. To the Secretary, S. J., Rome.
In my last few hasty lines I was only able to inform you of the unexpected arrival of Mrs. Romayne while Winterfield was visiting her husband.
If you remember, I warned you not to attach any undue importance to my absence on that occasion.
My present report will satisfy my reverend brethren that the interests committed to me are as safe as ever in my hands.
I have paid three visits, at certain intervals.
The first to Winterfield (briefly mentioned in my last letter); the second to Romayne; the third to the invalid lady, Mrs. Eyrecourt.