“Forgive me for owning it plainly,” said Lady Loring—“I think you and your mother are a little too ready to suspect Father Benwell without any discoverable cause. Thousands of people go to Clovelly, and Beaupark House is one of the show-places in the neighborhood. Is there a little Protestant prejudice in this new idea of yours?”
Stella made no reply; she seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.
Lady Loring went on.
“I am open to conviction, my dear. If you will only tell me what interest Father Benwell can have in knowing about you and Winterfield—”
Stella suddenly looked up. “Let us speak of another person,” she said; “I own I don’t like Father Benwell. As you know, Romayne has concealed nothing from me. Ought I to have any concealments from him? Ought I not to tell him about Winterfield?”
Lady Loring started. “You astonish me,” she said. “What right has Romayne to know it?”
“What right have I to keep it a secret from him?”
“My dear Stella! if you had been in any way to blame in that miserable matter, I should be the last person in the world to advise you to keep it a secret. But you are innocent of all blame. No man—not even the man who is soon to be your husband—has a right to know what you have so unjustly suffered. Think of the humiliation of even speaking of it to Romayne!”
“I daren’t think of it,” cried Stella passionately. “But if it is my duty—”
“It is your duty to consider the consequences,” Lady Loring interposed. “You don’t know how such things sometimes rankle in a man’s mind. He may be perfectly willing to do you justice—and yet, there may be moments when he would doubt if you had told him the whole truth. I speak with the experience of a married woman. Don’t place yourself in that position toward your husband, if you wish for a happy married life.”