“No,” said Nina, looking as though a breath would blow her away altogether. “No.” Her smile repudiated the mere suggestion of hunger with a delicate completeness.
“I hear you have the most lovely little chapel,” she said softly, turning to her hostess. “It would be a great pleasure to me to see it. What a boon one’s little solitary corner for meditation is! Francie may have told you that I am rather a wanderer on the face of the earth, and so can appreciate it doubly.”
Frances, who had always looked upon Mrs. Severing as the prosperous chatelaine of Pensevern and its adjoining acres, looked so naïvely astonished that Ludovic felt strongly inclined to laugh. Instead, however, he charitably engaged her in a long conversation which enabled Nina to carry out the skilled presentment of herself which she evidently had in mind, unhampered by the startled gaze of her earlier acquaintance.
“Ludovic had the chapel built for me, as a surprise while I was away once,” Lady Argent told her proudly. “So very dear and kind of him, and I shall never forget my astonishment, especially as I thought at first that it was a new bathroom. Not when I went inside, you know, but we’d talked about having one for a long time, and when I saw the remains of the workmen outside, I felt sure it must be that. Ladders and tools and things, you know, and a great bucket of whitewash, such as one naturally associates with a bathroom, especially if one has it already in one’s mind, you know. But that was just because Ludovic thought it would make it lighter.”
“White walls,” murmured Nina symbolically. “I do so agree. Do you hold your own little services there?”
“The Bishop most kindly lets his own chaplain come over twice a week and say Mass. You see, the nearest Catholic Church is some miles away, and going in early isn’t always possible, although I can always manage Sundays, but of course it’s the greatest possible blessing to have the Chaplain. Such a nice man—and not an Irishman,” said Lady Argent rather thankfully.
“I’m afraid my prejudices are rather against parsons of any denomination,” Nina said with the air of one making a candid admission. “I always fancy—perhaps it’s just a fancy peculiar to myself—that one is so much more easily in tune with the Infinite, without any human intervention. But then I’m afraid I’m a dreadfully individual person.”
“Of course,” said Lady Argent quietly, “a Catholic looks at that quite differently.”
“Ah, but don’t speak as though I were not one of you in heart, in mind,” cried Nina quickly. “I adore the Catholic Church, and when I go to Church in London, I always go to Farm Street or one of your places of worship. I always say that there is an atmosphere in a Catholic Church which one finds nowhere else.”
Ludovic caught the words and glanced hastily at his mother, aware that this well-worn sentiment is as a red rag to a bull to the devout Catholic. For the remainder of the meal he firmly directed and maintained the conversation in undenominational channels.