“Nothing is impossible. Who knows?”
The padre, as they continued onward, offered many openings, but the young man at his side refused to be drawn into any confidence. So the padre gave up, for the futility of his efforts became irksome. His own lips were sealed, so he could not ask point-blank the question that clamored at the tip of his tongue.
“So you are Miss Harrigan’s confessor?”
“Does it strike you strangely?”
“If I were not her confessor I should take the liberty of asking you some questions.”
“It is quite possible that I should decline to answer them.”
The padre shrugged. “It is patent to me that you will go about this affair in your own way. I wish you well.”
“Thank you. As Miss Harrigan’s confessor you doubtless know everything but the truth.”
The padre laughed this time. The shops were closed. The open restaurants by the water-front held but few idlers. The padre admired the young man’s independence. Most men would have hesitated not a second to pour the tale into his ears in hope of material assistance. The padre’s admiration was equally proportioned with respect.