met you
at that delightful evening at the Duke's? I mean when we welcomed the
Cardinal back from Rome. Dear old man--if one may speak so familiarly
of a Prince of the Church. How charmingly he bears his new honors.
Such patriarchal simplicity, as every one remarked. Have you seen him
lately?"

The idea of the Order to which he belonged feeling any special interest
in a Cardinal (except when they made him of some use to them) privately
amused Father Benwell. "How wise the Church was," he thought, "in
inventing a spiritual aristocracy. Even this fool of a woman is
impressed by it." His spoken reply was true to his assumed character as
one of the inferior clergy. "Poor priests like me, madam, see but little
of Princes of the Church in the houses of Dukes." Saying this with
the most becoming humility, he turned the talk in a more productive
direction, before Mrs. Eyrecourt could proceed with her recollections of
"the evening at the Duke's."

"Your charming daughter and I have been talking about Clovelly,"
he continued. "I have just been spending a little holiday in that
delightful place. It was a surprise to me, Mrs. Eyrecourt, to see
so many really beautiful country seats in the neighborhood. I was
particularly struck--you know it, of course?--by Beaupark House."

Mrs. Eyrecourt's little twinging eyes suddenly became still and steady.
It was only for a moment. But that trifling change boded ill for the
purpose which the priest had in view. Even the wits of a fool can be
quickened by contact with the world. For many years Mrs. Eyrecourt had
held her place in society, acting under an intensely selfish sense of
her own interests, fortified by those cunning instincts which grow best
in a barren intellect. Perfectly unworthy of being trusted with secrets
which only concerned other people, this frivolous creature could be the
unassailable guardian of secrets which concerned herself. The instant
the priest referred indirectly to Winterfield, by speaking of Beaupark
House, her instincts warned her, as if in words:--Be careful for
Stella's sake!

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Eyrecourt. "I know Beaupark House; but--may I make
a confession?" she added, with her sweetest smile.

Father Benwell caught her tone, with his customary tact. "A confession
at a ball is a novelty, even in my experience," he answered with _his_
sweetest smile.

"How good of you to encourage me!" proceeded Mrs. Eyrecourt. "No, thank
you, I don't want to sit dow