"It is all very well for father to make light of it, but I do hope he understands that it is no joke with Paul. Paul is very sensible, and never thrusts his opinions on other people, but no one ever thinks of laughing at them to him."
"It is only father's way," began Sue, distressed; but her sister continued, unheeding. When Maud had a thing to say she was not to be defrauded of saying it, and she had now got the ear of the house in the shape of two other attentive listeners.
"What I mean is that father always seems to think that it is only clergymen who really care about religion. He looks upon it as their trade,—oh, he does, Sue—and he would be the first to be down on them if they neglected their trade,—but as for other people, particularly other men's caring—and Paul does care, that's the unfortunate part of it."
"Why unfortunate, dear Maud?" said Sue, gently.
"Oh, I only mean lest he and father should clash," explained Maud with perfect coolness. "I am not speaking of my own feelings. I don't mind." After a pause she subjoined: "You might give father a hint, Sue."
"And what about asking Mr. Custance to dinner?" struck in Sybil, who had hearkened to the above uneasily, yet with a different sort of uneasiness from that which made poor Sue breathe an unconscious sigh. "It might create a good impression. Well?"
"It wouldn't take Paul in for a moment," said Maud. "Still," she hesitated and looked over her shoulder as she was leaving the room, "a third person might be of use on the first evening after dinner. Just as you like about that," and she passed out with the air of a queen. She felt every inch a queen in those days.
"So it wouldn't take Paul in for a moment?" The words raised a new question in Leonore's mind. If Paul where his deeper feelings were concerned were thus acute and clear-sighted, how came it that he was so blind otherwise? Ah, there she was at it again! Back to her old dilemma—to the bogie which had just been torn in tatters during a merry feminine conclave, in which wedding preparations and wedding clothes had formed the chief objects of discussion.
It was so obvious that no one else had any arrière pensée as regarded the bridegroom elect, that she had suppressed her own successfully for the time being, and entered eagerly into all the details which even Maud condescended to be sociable over.
Maud had been quite sociable and pleasant over everything that morning. She had read bits of Paul's letter aloud; she had permitted herself to be bantered, even rather mischievously bantered, by Leo; and altogether was so approachable and communicative, that the reference to her lover's religious views and her desire that these should be respected, fell out naturally. Why then should Leo be perplexed anew?