The ladies having served my purpose, I ventured into the house, to pay my respects to Romayne.
He was in the study, and his excellent friend and secretary was with him. After the first greetings Penrose left us. His manner told me plainly that there was something wrong. I asked no questions—waiting on the chance that Romayne might enlighten me.
“I hope you are in better spirits, now that you have your old companion with you,” I said.
“I am very glad to have Penrose with me,” he answered. And then he frowned and looked out of the window at the two ladies in the grounds.
It occurred to me that Mrs. Eyrecourt might be occupying the customary false position of a mother-in-law. I was mistaken. He was not thinking of his wife’s mother—he was thinking of his wife.
“I suppose you know that Penrose had an idea of converting me?” he said, suddenly.
I was perfectly candid with him—I said I knew it, and approved of it. “May I hope that Arthur has succeeded in convincing you?” I ventured to add.
“He might have succeeded, Father Benwell, if he had chosen to go on.”
This reply, as you may easily imagine, took me by surprise.
“Are you really so obdurate that Arthur despairs of your conversion?” I asked.