He paused, looking at her beneath his shaggy brows, knowing, as he had always known, that this was a woman beyond his reach—cleverer, braver, of a higher mind than her sisters—one to whom he might perchance tender some small assistance, but nothing better. For women are wiser in their generation than men, and usually know better what is for their own happiness. Estella returned his glance with steady eyes.
‘He has gone,’ said Concha. ‘I have not been sent to tell you that he is going.’
‘I did not think that you had,’ she answered.
‘Conyngham has enemies in this country,’ continued the priest, ‘and despises them—a mistake to which his countrymen are singularly liable. He has gone off on this foolish quest without preparation or precaution. Toledo is, as you know, a hotbed of intrigue and dissatisfaction. All the malcontents in Spain congregate there, and Conyngham would do well to avoid their company. Who lies down with dogs gets up with fleas.’
He paused, tapping his snuffbox, and at that moment the door opened to admit General Vincente.
‘Oh! the Padre!’ cried the cheerful soldier. ‘But what a sun, eh? It is cool here, however, and Estella’s room is always a quiet one.’
He touched her cheek affectionately, and drew forward a low chair wherein he sat, carefully disposing of the sword that always seemed too large for him.
‘And what news has the Padre?’ he asked, daintily touching his brow with his pocket-handkerchief.
‘Bad,’ growled Concha, and then told his tale over again in a briefer, blunter manner. ‘It all arises,’ he concluded, ‘from my pestilential habit of interfering in the affairs of other people.’
‘No,’ said General Vincente; ‘it arises from Conyngham’s pestilential habit of acquiring friends wherever he goes.’