“Will you tell me why, Monsignor, Mrs. Hawley-Crowles takes this unusual step?”
“Unusual! Is it unusual, Madam, for a woman who has seen much of the world to turn from it to the solace and promise of the Church?”
The Beaubien laughed sharply. “For women like Mrs. Hawley-Crowles it is, decidedly. What was her price, Monsignor?”
“Madam! You astonish me!”
“Monsignor, I do not. I know Mrs. Hawley-Crowles. And by this time you do, too. She is the last woman in the world to turn from it.”
“But the question you have just propounded reflects seriously upon both the Church and me––”
“Bah!” interjected the Beaubien, her eyes flashing. “Wait,” she commanded imperiously, as he rose. “I have a few things to say to you, since this is to be your last call.”
“Madam, not the last, I hope. For I shall not cease to plead the cause of the Church to you––”
“Surely, Monsignor, that is your business. You are welcome in my house at any time, and particularly when you have such delightful scraps of gossip as these which you have brought to-day. But, a word before you go, lest you become indiscreet on your return. Play Mrs. Hawley-Crowles to any extent you wish, but let her ward alone––absolutely! She is not for you.”
The cold, even tone in which the woman said this left no doubt in the man’s mind of her meaning. She was not trifling with him now, he knew. In her low-voiced words he found no trace of banter, of sophistry, nor of aught that he might in any wise misinterpret.