“I am sorry you should think so harshly of us, Duchess. I should not have ventured to broach the subject, only Lord Alistair Stuart is among our patrons, and we hope to see him on Saturday. Miss Vanbrugh also held out a hope that she might drop in for an hour.”
“I was only coming out of curiosity, remember; I told you that, Mr. Grimes,” put in Hero promptly. “As it is, I think I shall follow the Duchess’s lead, and boycott you. I have no objection to Louis XIX, but I think I must draw the line at Mary III.”
It was under this name that the Bavarian Princess whom the Legitimist Guild honoured with their homage, figured in their recently published calendar of true and lawful Sovereigns. It must not be supposed that in so styling her the Legitimists were inconsistent enough to acknowledge the title of the wife of William of Orange to a place in the list of British monarchs. The Mary II recognized by them was the ill-starred rival of Queen Elizabeth. Further back than the martyr of Fotheringay their genealogical inquiries did not too curiously extend, lest, perhaps, they should find themselves confronted with that direct descendant of the Plantagenets who plied the trade of a chimney-sweeper in the last generation, and who, as a base Protestant mechanic, would have been ill-deserving of the sympathy accorded to such illustrious figures as Don Carlos and Leo XIII.
But a change had come over the face of the Duchess while Hero was speaking. Now she said to her:
“After all, I expect it is a mistake to treat Mr. Grimes’s friends seriously. Suppose we agree to look in on the conspirators together? I should like you to meet my boy Alistair.”
And without waiting for the expression of the curate’s exuberant delight at this decision, the elder woman gave the signal to enter the carriage that was to convey them to Colonsay House.
On the way thither the Duchess made no further reference to what was in her mind. But while they were waiting for lunch to be served, she took her guest into the little drawing-room where Alistair had found her the night before.
“I want to talk to you about my boy,” she said, making Hero sit down beside her on the couch. “I dare say you know he is in sad trouble just now.”
This was by no means Hero’s first visit to Colonsay House. The friendship between her and the Duchess was of some standing. Encountering each other among the squalid byways of St. Jermyn’s parish, a mutual liking had quickly sprung up between them, which rested on no more occult base than the simple goodness of heart which was common to the two. The older woman admired Hero Vanbrugh for her courage and plain good sense, and Hero on her part revered the Duchess for her antique piety and single-mindedness. Thus it came about that the two were constant companions, visiting in the same district and helping in each other’s work.
It was a source of secret regret to the Duchess that Hero did not share her own old-fashioned prejudice against the Catholic practices and teachings of Mr. Grimes and his Vicar. Hero had an æsthetic appreciation of the ritual of St. Jermyn’s, with its banners and processions, its incense and its worship of the consecrated elements, and this led her to listen with outward tolerance to the utterances of Dr. Coles and his disciple on the subject of the Catholic doctrines which lay behind these outward symbols. But the native strength of her mind forbade her to make that surrender of her own judgment to priestly authority which is the real test of the Catholic temper.