all
things what they call the 'controversy' here; don't read their little
books, and never make close friendships with the Monsignori. You're
a young man, and naturally enough would feel flattered at their
attentions, and all the social attractions they 'd surround you with.
Of course you know nothing of life, and that is the very thing they do
understand; and perhaps it is not right of me to say it--it's like
a treason--but the women, the great leaders of society, aid them
powerfully. They 'd like to bring you over," said she, raising her glass
and looking at him. "You'd really look remarkably well in a chasuble and
a cope. They 'd positively fight for you as a domestic chaplain"--and
the thought so amused her that she laughed outright, and L'Estrange
him-self joined her. "I hope I have not wearied you with my cautions and
my warnings; but really, when I thought how utterly alone and friendless
you must be here, nobody to consult with, none to advise you--for,
after all, your mother could scarcely be an efficient guide in such
difficulties--I felt it would be cruel not to come to your aid. Have
you got a watch? I don't trust that little pendule, though it plays a
delicious 'Ave Maria' of Rossini's. What hour is it?"

"Half-past four, madam. I am really shocked at the length of my visit."

"Well, I must go away. Perhaps you 'll come and see my sister--she's
charming, I assure you, and she 'd like to know you?"

"If you will vouchsafe to present me on any other day, I shall be
but too grateful; but Sir Marcus Cluff gave me a rendezvous for four
o'clock."

"And you 'll be with him at five," cried she, laughing. "Don't say it
was I that made you break your appointment, for he hates me, and would
never forgive you. By-by. Tell your mother I 'll call on her to-morrow,
and hope you 'll both dine with me." And without waiting for a word in
reply, she tripped out of the summer-house, and hastened away to the
villa.

L'Estrange had little time to think over this somewhat strange interview
when he reached the entrance-gate to the grounds of Sir Marcus Cluff,
and was scarcely admitted within the precincts when a phaeton and a pair
of very diminutive ponies drove up, and a thin, emaciated man, carefully
swathed in shawls and wrappers, who held the reins, called out, "Is that
Mr. L'Estrange?"

The young parson came forward with his excuses for being late, and
begged that he might not interrupt Sir Marcus in his intended drive