A CHRISTIAN JESUIT.
ON the next day Penrose arrived on his visit to Romayne.
The affectionate meeting between the two men tested Stella's self-control as it had never been tried yet.She submitted to the ordeal with the courage of a woman whose happiness depended on her outward graciousness of manner toward her husband's friend.
Her reception of Penrose, viewed as an act of refined courtesy, was beyond reproach.When she found her opportunity of leaving the room, Romayne gratefully opened the door for her."Thank you!" he whispered, with a look which was intended to reward her.
She only bowed to him, and took refuge in her own room.
Even in trifles, a woman's nature is degraded by the falsities of language and manner which the artificial condition of modern society exacts from her.When she yields herself to more serious deceptions, intended to protect her dearest domestic interests, the mischief is increased in proportion.Deceit, which is the natural weapon of defense used by the weak creature against the strong, then ceases to be confined within the limits assigned by the sense of self-respect and by the restraints of education.Awoman in this position will descend, self- blinded, to acts of meanness which would be revolting to her if they were related of another person.
Stella had already begun the process of self-degradation by writing secretly to Winterfield.It was only to warn him of the danger of trusting Father Benwell--but it was a letter, claiming him as her accomplice in an act of deception.That morning she had received Penrose with the outward cordialities of welcome which are offered to an old and dear friend.And now, in the safe solitude of her room, she had fallen to a lower depth still.She was deliberately considering the safest means of acquainting herself with the confidential conversation which Romayne and Penrose would certainly hold when she left them together."He will try to set my husband against me; and I have a right to know what means he uses, in my own defense." With that thought she reconciled herself to an action which she would have despised if she had heard of it as the action of another woman.
It was a beauti ful autumn day, brightened by clear sunshine, enlivened by crisp air.Stella put on her hat and went out for a stroll in the grounds.
While she was within view from the windows of the servants'
offices she walked away from the house.Turning the corner of a shrubbery, she entered a winding path, on the other side, which led back to the lawn under Romayne's study window.Garden chairs were placed here and there.She took one of them, and seated herself--after a last moment of honorable hesitation--where she could hear the men's voices through the open window above her.
Penrose was speaking at the time.
"Yes.Father Benwell has granted me a holiday," he said; "but Idon't come here to be an idle man.You must allow me to employ my term of leave in the pleasantest of all ways.I mean to be your secretary again."Romayne sighed."Ah, if you knew how I have missed you!"(Stella waited, in breathless expectation, for what Penrose would say to this.Would he speak of _her?_ No.There was a natural tact and delicacy in him which waited for the husband to introduce the subject.)Penrose only said, "How is the great work getting on?"The answer was sternly spoken in one word--"Badly!""I am surprised to hear that, Romayne."
"Why? Were you as innocently hopeful as I was? Did you expect my experience of married life to help me in writing my book?"Penrose replied after a pause, speaking a little sadly."Iexpected your married life to encourage you in all your highest aspirations," he said.
(Stella turned pale with suppressed anger.He had spoken with perfect sincerity.The unhappy woman believed that he lied, for the express purpose of rousing irritation against her, in her husband's irritable mind.She listened anxiously for Romayne's answer.)He made no answer.Penrose changed the subject."You are not looking very well," he gently resumed."I am afraid your health has interfered with your work.Have you had any return--?"It was still one of the characteristics of Romayne's nervous irritability that he disliked to hear the terrible delusion of the Voice referred to in words."Yes," he interposed bitterly, "Ihave heard it again and again.My right hand is as red as ever, Penrose, with the blood of a fellow-creature.Another destruction of my illusions when I married!""Romayne! I don't like to hear you speak of your marriage in that way.""Oh, very well.Let us go back to my book.Perhaps I shall get on better with it now you are here to help me.My ambition to make a name in the world has never taken so strong a hold on me (I don't know why, unless other disappointments have had something to do with it) as at this time, when I find I can't give my mind to my work.We will make a last effort together, my friend! If it fails, we will put my manuscripts into the fire, and I will try some other career.Politics are open to me.Through politics, Imight make my mark in diplomacy.There is something in directing the destinies of nations wonderfully attractive to me in my present state of feeling.I hate the idea of being indebted for my position in the world, like the veriest fool living, to the accidents of birth and fortune.Are _you_ content with the obscure life that you lead? Did you not envy that priest (he is no older than I am) who was sent the other day as the Pope's ambassador to Portugal?"Penrose spoke out at last without hesitation."You are in a thoroughly unwholesome state of mind," he said.
Romayne laughed recklessly."When was I ever in a healthy state of mind?" he asked.
Penrose passed the interruption over without notice."If I am to do you any good," he resumed, "I must know what is really the matter with you.The very last question that I ought to put, and that I wish to put, is the question which you force me to ask.""What is it?"
