Father Bonneville returned about two o’clock on the following day; but with a lack of confidence which I rarely showed toward him—for he was so gentle and so good, who could want confidence in him—I did not mention at all, the little incident which had occurred at the mill. I told him, however, all about the supposed sight I had caught of Mariette, but the good Father only smiled at me.
“You are always thinking of Mariette, Louis,” he said, “and if you go on so, I shall really fancy you are in love with her memory.”
“And so I am,” I answered frankly, “I can imagine a father would so love a child, as I love Mariette; and I shall always love her so.”
“My dear boy,” replied Father Bonneville, laying his hand impressively upon my arm, “that is impossible. You and Mariette are no longer children; you might love her as a brother when you last saw her; but if you love her at all, you must love her otherwise now.”
I fell into thought, and I felt that he was right. He gave me but little time to ponder, however, asking me who else I had seen, and I mentioned several names, Colonel C——, the commander-in-chief, a number of young officers, the two strangers who had dined with me, and lastly, in as easy a tone as I could assume, Westover’s two aunts.
Father Bonneville asked their names, and I replied, “Lady Winslow, and a lady they called Lady Catherine—I suppose Lady Catherine Westover; for he said, in the course of the evening, that she was his father’s sister.”
I looked somewhat keenly at Father Bonneville as I spoke; but my words did not seem to produce the slightest effect worth noticing.
“It is droll,” he said. “I do not remember the name of Westover in the English peerage. It must be some new creation, I suppose.”
“I should think not,” I replied, “for there is a calm quietness about them—a want of all arrogance and presumption—an easy, self-possessed tranquillity, which I have always remarked, in this country, accompanies ancient rights, and well assured position.”
“Do you know,” said Father Bonneville, suddenly darting away from the subject, “that it has once or twice struck me, Louis, that there is a great deal of likeness between your friend Captain Westover and yourself?”