He looked at her gravely.
"That I understand."
"You know that I was brought up apart from religion, altogether?"
His eye saddened. Then he raised her hand and kissed it. The pitying tenderness of the action almost made her break down. But she tried to snatch her hand away.
"It was papa's doing, and I shall never blame him—never!"
"I have been in Belgium lately," he said, holding the hand close, "at a great Catholic town—Louvain—where I was educated. I went to an old priest I know, and to a Reverend Mother who has sent me Sisters once or twice, and I begged of them both—prayers for your father's soul."
She stared. The painful tears rushed into her eyes.
"I thought that—for you—that was all sure and settled long ago."
"I don't think you know much about us, little heretic! I have prayed for your father's soul at every Mass since—you remember that Rosary service in April?"
She nodded.