The Black Robe. Уилки Коллинз
“When you are as old as I am,” he said, “you will not believe in appearances where women are concerned. Do you know what I think of her? Beautiful, if you like—and dangerous as well.”
“Dangerous! In what way?”
“This is for your private ear, Arthur. She is in love with Romayne. Wait a minute! And Lady Loring—unless I am entirely mistaken in what I observed—knows it and favors it. The beautiful Stella may be the destruction of all our hopes, unless we keep Romayne out of her way.”
These words were whispered with an earnestness and agitation which surprised Penrose. His superior’s equanimity was not easily overthrown. “Are you sure, Father, of what you say?” he asked.
“I am quite sure—or I should not have spoken.”
“Do you think Mr. Romayne returns the feeling?”
“Not yet, luckily. You must use your first friendly influence over him—what is her name? Her surname, I mean.”
“Eyrecourt. Miss Stella Eyrecourt.”
“Very well. You must use your influence (when you are quite sure that it is an influence) to keep Mr. Romayne away from Miss Eyrecourt.”
Penrose looked embarrassed. “I am afraid I should hardly know how to do that,” he said “But I should naturally, as his assistant, encourage him to keep to his studies.”
Whatever Arthur’s superior might privately think of Arthur’s reply, he received it with outward indulgence. “That will come to the same thing,” he said. “Besides, when I get the information I want—this is strictly between ourselves—I may be of some use in placing obstacles in the lady’s way.”
Penrose started. “Information!” he repeated. “What information?”
“Tell me something before I answer you,” said Father Benwell. “How old do you take Miss Eyrecourt to be?”
“I am not a good judge in such matters. Between twenty and twenty-five, perhaps?”
“We will take her age at that estimate, Arthur. In former years, I have had opportunities of studying women’s characters in the confessional. Can you guess what my experience tells me of Miss Eyrecourt?”
“No, indeed!”
“A lady is not in love for the first time when she is between twenty and twenty-five years old—that is my experience,” said Father Benwell. “If I can find a person capable of informing me, I may make some valuable discoveries in the earlier history of Miss Eyrecourt’s life. No more, now. We had better return to our friends.”
CHAPTER V.
FATHER BENWELL MISSES.
THE group before the picture which had been the subject of dispute was broken up. In one part of the gallery, Lady Loring and Stella were whispering together on a sofa. In another part, Lord Loring was speaking privately to Romayne.
“Do you think you will like Mr. Penrose?” his lordship asked.
“Yes—so far as I can tell at present. He seems to be modest and intelligent.”
“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. If your reading leads you that way, he knows more than most men of the rare old manuscripts which treat of the early history of Christianity.”
This delicately managed reference to the projected work on “The Origin of Religions” produced its effect.
“I should like very much, Mr. Penrose, to speak to you about those manuscripts,” Romayne said. “Copies of some of them may perhaps be in the British Museum. Is it asking too much to inquire if you are disengaged this morning?”
“I am entirely at your service, Mr. Romayne.”
“If you will kindly