“Penrose?” she repeated. “He is the friend—is he not—of the priest here, whom they call Father Benwell?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like Father Benwell.”
“Is that a reason for disliking Mr. Penrose?”
“Yes,” she said, boldly, “because he is Father Benwell’s friend.”
“Indeed, you are mistaken, Miss Eyrecourt. Mr. Penrose only entered yesterday on his duties as my secretary, and I have already had reason to think highly of him. Many men, after that experience of me,” he added, speaking more to himself than to her, “might have asked me to find another secretary.”
Stella heard those last words, and looked at him in astonishment. “Were you angry with Mr. Penrose?” she asked innocently. “Is it possible that you could speak harshly to any person in your employment?”
Romayne smiled. “It was not what I said,” he answered. “I am subject to attacks—to sudden attacks of illness. I am sorry I alarmed Mr. Penrose by letting him see me under those circumstances.”
She looked at him; hesitated; and looked away again. “Would you be angry with me if I confessed something?” she said timidly.
“It is impossible I can be angry with you!”