Mrs. Burgoyne frowned with perplexity. 'I'm afraid I don't know what that is?' she said.
'They think everybody will be saved,' said Miss Foster in her shy deep voice. 'They don't despair of anybody.'
And suddenly Mrs. Burgoyne saw a very soft and tender expression pass across the girl's grave features, like the rising of an inward light.
'A mystic—and a beauty both?' she thought to herself, a little scornfully this time. In all her politeness to the new-comer so far, she had been like a person stealthily searching for something foreseen and desired. If she had found it, it would have been quite easy to go on being kind to Miss Foster. But she had not found it.
At that moment the door between the library and the salon was thrown open, and Manisty appeared, cigarette in hand.
'Aunt Pattie—Eleanor—how many tickets do you want for this function next
Sunday?'
'Four tribune tickets—we three'—Miss Manisty pointed to the other two ladies—'and yourself. If we can't get so many, leave me at home.'
'Of course we shall have tribune tickets—as many as we want,' said Manisty a little impatiently.—'Have you explained to Miss Foster?'
'No, but I will. Miss Foster, next Sunday fortnight the Pope celebrates his 'Capella Papale'—the eighteenth anniversary of his coronation—in St. Peter's. Rome is very full, and there will be a great demonstration—fifty thousand people or more. Would you like to come?'
Miss Foster looked up, hesitating. Manisty, who had turned to go back to his room, paused, struck by the momentary silence. He listened with curiosity for the girl's reply.