quarrel, Stella," he rejoined; "I will only say I am sorry you
don't appreciate my forbearance. Your reception of Mr. Winterfield has
lost me the friendship of a man whom I sincerely liked, and who might
have assisted my literary labors. You were ill at the time, and anxious
about Mrs. Eyrecourt. I respected your devotion to your mother. I
remembered your telling me, when you first went away to nurse her, that
your conscience accused you of having sometimes thoughtlessly neglected
your mother in her days of health and good spirits, and I admired the
motive of atonement which took you to her bedside. For those reasons
I shrank from saying a word that might wound you. But, because I was
silent, it is not the less true that you surprised and disappointed me.
Don't do it again! Whatever you may privately think of Catholic priests,
I once more seriously request you not to let Penrose see it."

He left the room.

She stood, looking after him as he closed the door, like a woman
thunderstruck. Never yet had he looked at her as he looked when he spoke
his last warning words. With a heavy sigh she roused herself. The
vague dread with which his tone rather than his words had inspired her,
strangely associated itself with the momentary curiosity which she had
felt on noticing the annotated book that lay on his desk.

She snatched up the volume and looked at the open page. It contained
the closing paragraphs of an eloquent attack on Protestantism, from the
Roman Catholic point of view. With trembling hands she turned back to
the title-page. It presented this written inscription: "To Lewis Romayne
from his attached friend and servant, Arthur Penrose."

"God help me!" she said to herself; "the priest has got between us
already!"

CHAPTER II.

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 degrade