“I have a good mind to ask her after dinner whether she is,” said Lothair. “I fancy she would not marry a Protestant?”
“I am no judge of such matters,” said Lady Clanmorne; “only I cannot help thinking that there would be more chance of a happy marriage when both were of the same religion.”
“I wish we were all of the same religion. Do not you?”
“Well, that depends a little on what the religion might be.”
“Ah!” sighed Lothair, “what between religion and marriage and some other things, it appears to me one never has a tranquil moment. I wonder what religious school the Duke of Brecon belongs to? Very high and dry, I should think.”
The moment the gentlemen returned to the drawing-room, Lothair singled out Miss Arundel, and attached himself to her.
“I have been to see your portrait today,” he said. She changed color.
“I think it,” he continued, “the triumph of modern art, and I could not easily fix on any production of the old masters that excels it.”
“It was painted at Rome,” she said, in a low voice.
“So I understood. I regret that, when I was at Rome, I saw so little of its art. But my health, you know, was wretched. Indeed, if it had not been for some friends—I might say for one friend—I should not have been here or in this world. I can never express to that person my gratitude, and it increases every day. All that I have dreamed of angels was then realized.”