She had cantered with a light hand over all sorts of subjects,—Westminster Cathedral, the reunion of Churches, her own Catholic tendencies, her charities, the newest play (which she described well), and her anxiety because her husband ate too much. Then, at last, she lighted on Mark's sermons.
Canon Nicholls spoke with reserve of Mark; he was shy of betraying his own affection for him.
"Yes; it is young eloquence, fresh and quite genuine," he said in response to Adela's enthusiasm.
"It sounds so very real," said Adela, with a sigh. "One couldn't imagine, you know, that he could have any doubts, or that he could be sorry, or disappointed, or anything of that sort—and yet——"
"And yet, what?" asked the Canon.
"And yet—well, I know I am foolish, and I do idealise people and make up heroes—I know I do! It is such a pleasure to admire people, isn't it? And after he gave up being heir to Groombridge Castle! I was staying there when poor, dear Lord Groombridge got the news of his ordination, and it was all so sad and so beautiful, and now I can't bear to think that Father Molyneux is sorry already that he gave it all up."
"Sorry that he gave it up—!"
Adela gave a little jump in her chair. It made her so nervous to see a blind man excited. But curiosity was strong within her.
"I am afraid it is quite true; a friend of mine who knows him quite well, told me."
"Told you what?"