here is the obstacle," he
said, in a tone of ironical resignation.

Knowing Arthur's character as I knew it, I at last understood what had
happened. For a moment I felt really angry. Under these circumstances,
the wise course was to say nothing, until I could be sure of speaking
with exemplary moderation. It doesn't do for a man in my position to
show anger.

Romayne went on.

"We talked of my wife, Father Benwell, the last time you were here. You
only knew, then, that her reception of Mr. Winterfield had determined
him never to enter my house again. By way of adding to your information
on the subject of 'petticoat government,' I may now tell you that Mrs.
Romayne has forbidden Penrose to proceed with the attempt to convert
me. By common consent, the subject is never mentioned between us."
The bitter irony of his tone, thus far, suddenly disappeared. He spoke
eagerly and anxiously. "I hope you are not angry with Arthur?" he said.

By this time my little fit of ill-temper was at an end. I answered--and
it was really in a certain sense true--"I know Arthur too well to be
angry with him."

Romayne seemed to be relieved. "I only troubled you with this last
domestic incident," he resumed, "to bespeak your indulgence for Penrose.
I am getting learned in the hierarchy of the Church, Father Benwell! You
are the superior of my dear little friend, and you exercise authority
over him. Oh, he is the kindest and best of men! It is not his fault.
He submits to Mrs. Romayne--against his own better conviction--in the
honest belief that he consults the interests of our married life."

I don't think I misinterpret the state of Romayne's mind, and mislead
you, when I express my belief that this second indiscreet interference
of his wife between his friend and himself will produce the very result
which she dreads. Mark my words, written after the closest observation
of him--this new irritation of Romayne's sensitive self-respect will
hasten his conversion.

You will understand that the one alternative before me, after what
has happened, is to fill the place from which Penrose has withdrawn. I
abstained from breathing a word of this to Romayne. It is he, if I can
manage it, who must invite me to complete the work of conversion--and,
besides, nothing can be done until the visit of Penrose has come to an
end. Romayne's secret sense of irritation may be safely left to develop
itself, with time to help it.

I changed the conversation