She spoke with enthusiasm—the enthusiasm which women seldom, if ever, display for principle on its bare merits. By the deepening colour in her eyes and sudden clearness in her cheeks, the Ambassador felt that he had reached a point where the emotions would have to be considered, even though they might not be counted on.
“I have not time to tell you all the nonsense Reckage said,” he answered. “So far as my own judgment can serve for a guide, I believe that he would like to see Orange under the care and discipline of St. Ignatius.”
“He wishes him to become a Jesuit priest? How selfish!”
“Such is my impression. He wants so competent a colleague removed from the political sphere. If his words and actions are of a piece, he will certainly work hard to attain this object. He is saying everywhere, ‘Orange is a born ecclesiastic. Orange is a mystic. Orange is under the influence of Newman. Orange begins to see that marriage is not for him.’ Such remarks don't help outside the Church. Really, competition renders the nicest people detestable.”
Lady Sara could not conceal her agitation. But she baffled her companion a little by saying—
“I suppose you want Orange to marry your inopportune Archduchess?”
“The lady in question is certainly inopportune. I have never called her an Archduchess. I leave such audacities to her enemies! But tell me what you think of Mrs. Parflete?”
“I have never seen her. Pensée Fitz Rewes insists that she is beautiful, cold, determined, and uncommon.”
“Generally, there is nothing so fatal to a woman's success in the world as an early connection with a scoundrel. I have odd accounts of Mrs. Parflete from Madrid—the Marquis of Castrillon and an upstart called Bodava fought a duel about her in Baron Zeuill's gymnasium. A man called William Caffle, who attended to their wounds, has given me fullest particulars of the affair. I don't wish to injure the lady, but on account of eventualities which might arise, I am obliged to look a little about me.”
“I understand,” said Sara.