Felix stretched out his hand as if to steady himself, motioned the priest to a chair, and sank into his own.
“In the Sisters' Home,” he repeated mechanically, after a moment's silence. Then rousing himself: “And you will see her, Father, from time to time?”
“Yes, every day. Why do you ask such a question—of me, in particular?”
“Because,” replied Felix slowly, “I may be away—out of the country. I have just asked Mrs. Cleary to look after Masie and she has promised she will. And I am going to ask you to look after my poor wife. They must be very gentle with her—and they should not judge her too harshly.” He seemed to be talking at random, thinking aloud rather than addressing his companions. “Since I saw you I have received a letter from my solicitor. There is some money coming to me, he says, and I shall see that she is not a burden to you.”
The priest turned abruptly, and laid a firm hand on O'Day's knee. “But you will see her, of course?”
“No, it is better that you act for me. She will not want to see me in her present condition.”
Kitty was about to protest, when Father Cruse waved her into silence. “You certainly cannot mean what you have just said, Mr. O'Day?”
“I do.”
The priest rose quickly, passed though the kitchen, and opened the door leading to the outer office. Two women stood waiting, one in a long cloak, the other clinging to her arm, her face white as chalk, her lips quivering.
“Come in,” said the priest.