‘Is she likely to be?’
‘Not unless she becomes so by her own exertions.’
‘And there is no definite prospect of marriage for you?’
‘As you may suppose, none—not even an indefinite one.’
‘I could suppose so. Well ... remember I speak quite without knowledge of the circumstances, but knowing exactly what I do—no more and no less, I should say, I hope that lady is aware of what is being sacrificed for her sake.’
Jerome was perfectly silent. Perhaps he was not conscious of acting like a cowardly hound. He did not realise, for Father Somerville was too clever to allow him to do so—he did not then realise that the woman who was his promised wife had been lightly spoken of—to him—and he had lifted neither hand nor voice in protest.
‘That is my feeling,’ repeated Somerville; ‘but after this, I have no right to urge you. But I repeat my words—I would to heaven that you, Jerome Wellfield, were master here! Good-night!’
Wellfield wrung his hand, and took his homeward way. Somerville passed slowly back towards the Brentwood Park, his hands clasped behind his back, pondering, lost in thought, till at last he gave a sudden start and stop.
‘Fool that I am!’ he murmured. ‘Instead of giving up the marriage, I should do all in my power to urge it on. This woman in the background is——I wish she were out of the way. And yet, if I could marry them in spite of her.... A man and wife who live together in a hell-upon-earth must have resort to a third person for help, and it should go hard if I were not that third person. Upon my soul, I like the scheme. If Wellfield Abbey and the money of that insolent heretic who lives there now were once more under the control of the Church—it would be a meritorious act in whoever had brought it about—another jewel in Our Lady’s shrine, and,’ with a faint, sarcastic smile, ‘a step upwards for Pablo Somerville. The young man himself is a Wellfield. If I can make him act for our advantage, by playing upon that self of his, it is easy to bring out the whip afterwards, when he has gone too far to retreat.’