“No, no! I can't have you rushing off in that way. It is Saturday, and quite time for you to leave off work till Monday morning. Stop and have supper with me, now I have kept you so late. I am quite alone, and shall be glad of company.”
His manner was so bright and pleasant that Arthur felt at ease with him at once. After some desultory conversation, the Director inquired how long he had known Montanelli.
“For about seven years. He came back from China when I was twelve years old.”
“Ah, yes! It was there that he gained his reputation as a missionary preacher. Have you been his pupil ever since?”
“He began teaching me a year later, about the time when I first confessed to him. Since I have been at the Sapienza he has still gone on helping me with anything I wanted to study that was not in the regular course. He has been very kind to me—you can hardly imagine how kind.”
“I can well believe it; he is a man whom no one can fail to admire—a most noble and beautiful nature. I have met priests who were out in China with him; and they had no words high enough to praise his energy and courage under all hardships, and his unfailing devotion. You are fortunate to have had in your youth the help and guidance of such a man. I understood from him that you have lost both parents.”
“Yes; my father died when I was a child, and my mother a year ago.”
“Have you brothers and sisters?”
“No; I have step-brothers; but they were business men when I was in the nursery.”
“You must have had a lonely childhood; perhaps you value Canon Montanelli's kindness the more for that. By the way, have you chosen a confessor for the time of his absence?”