"And especially religion of the type that allows you to give your soul into someone else's keeping. There is no such anodyne," said Maxwell, musing. "I have often noticed how Catholic women keep their youth and softness. But now, do allow me a few words about yourself. Is what I hear about your withdrawal from Parliament irrevocable?"
George's reply led to a discussion in which Maxwell, without any attempt at party proselytism, endeavoured to combat all that he could understand of the young man's twofold disgust, disgust with his own random convictions no less than with the working of the party machine.
"Where do I belong?" he said. "I don't know myself. I ought never to have gone in. Anyway, I had better stand aside for a time."
"But evidently the Malford people want to keep you."
"Well, and of course I shall consult their convenience as much as I can," said George, unwillingly, but would say no more.
Nothing, indeed, could be more flattering, more healing, than all that was implied in Maxwell's earnestness, in the peculiar sympathy and kindness with which the elder man strove to win the younger's confidence; but George could not respond. His whole inner being was too sore; and his mind ran incomparably more upon the damnable letter that must be lying somewhere in the archives of the memory of the man talking to him, than upon his own political prospects. The conversation ended for Maxwell in mere awkwardness and disappointment,—deep disappointment if the truth were known. Once roused his idealism was little less stubborn, less wilful than Marcella's.
When the ladies withdrew, a brilliant group of them stood for a moment on the first landing of the great oak staircase, lighting candles and chattering. Madeleine Penley took her candle absently from Marcella's hand, saying nothing. The girl's curious face under its crown of gold-red hair was transformed somehow to an extraordinary beauty. The frightened parting of the lips and lifting of the brows had become rather a look of exquisite surprise, as of one who knows at last "the very heart of love."
"I am coming to you, presently," murmured Marcella, laying her cheek against the girl's.
"Oh, do come!" said Madeleine, with a great breath, and she walked away, unsteadily, by herself, into the darkness of the tapestried passage, her white dress floating behind her.
Marcella looked after her, then turned with shining eyes to Letty
Tressady. Her expression changed.