“Yes; I see him constantly in London.”
“Then can you tell me about him? What is he? That is the thing I puzzle and pray over. He joined the Roman Church, as you know, at Christmas. I don’t think anything ever pained me more. But I should be very glad to know if he is in earnest about it. Or does he take it as he takes everything else? Do you understand it?”
“Yes, I think I do,” said Frank, and paused a moment. “It is this. Martin demands beauty in all that is real to him. That is the ruling instinct in his nature. And, in matters of religion, the Roman Church seemed to him to supply that more than the church he left.”
“And it was for that he threw it over?” said Mr. Challoner. “And without regret or struggle even?”
“He regretted very sincerely the pain it would give you,” said Frank.
Mr. Challoner waved this aside.
“That does not matter,” he said. “But otherwise without a regret?”
Frank let his silence unmistakably answer that before he went on.
“I know you will excuse me,” he said, “but I don’t think you quite realise what Martin is or how the artistic instincts dominate him. Till he fell in love, I don’t think he ever had any very poignant emotion apart from them.”
Mr. Challoner’s face got even more grave.