“I dare say, but as I told her, it’s much easier to be obedient to anyone and everything, sooner than to those to whom obedience is due,” said Bertha smartly. “If she is so anxious to submit her own judgment, she can submit it to mine. But that, of course, is exactly what my young lady doesn’t choose to do.” There was an acerbity in her tone that struck Ludovic as over-personal.
“If she really wishes it, I suppose you would not oppose it a little later on?” he suggested.
“I suppose not,” said Bertha wearily. “I’ve never been hide-bound by any creed myself. One learns to be extraordinarily tolerant, as time goes on. Fresh air, laughter, sunshine, plenty of work and plenty of friends—that’s my religion.”
Ludovic had met this breezy, simple creed before, and it had always failed oddly to carry any conviction to him. It failed again now.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “You know my mother became a Catholic some years ago?”
“Yes—she wrote to me. It seems to have made her very happy.”
“I think it has,” said Ludovic simply. Thereafter their talk turned upon Lady Argent and the Wye Valley.
It was, however, directly attributable to the foregoing conversation that Mrs. Tregaskis shortly after her return to Porthlew received an invitation for Frances.
“Do let Frances come to me for a nice long visit,” wrote Lady Argent; “and Rosamund, too, if she likes, but Ludovic thinks that perhaps she would not care to be so near her old home. But I should love to have either, or both, and if Frances is really thinking of adopting her mother’s religion, it seems only fair that she should see something of a Catholic atmosphere. I will not let her do anything rash, dear Bertie, and I am sure it will be a real rest for you to have no young things on your hands for a little while.”
“It would indeed!” quoth Bertha, rather grimly, as she imparted portions of her correspondence to Frederick, who was rather ostentatiously not listening.