Father Stafford. Anthony Hope

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      "And you mean Kate doesn't? I'm glad I'm not engaged to you, Mr. Lane, if that's the kind of thing you say."

      Eugene opened his mouth, shut it again, and then said blandly:

      "So am I."

      "Thank you! You need not be afraid."

      "If I were engaged to you, I mightn't like you so well."

      A slight blush became visible on Claudia's usually pale cheek.

      Eugene looked away toward the horizon.

      "I like the way quite pale people blush," he said.

      "What do you want, Mr. Lane?"

      "Ah! I see you appreciate my character. I want many things I can't have—a great many."

      "No doubt," said Claudia, still blushing under the mournful gaze which accompanied those words. "Do you want anything you can have?"

      "Yes! I want you to stay several more weeks."

      "I'm going to stay." said Claudia.

      "How kind!" exclaimed Eugene.

      "Do you know why?"

      "My modesty forbids me to think."

      "I want, to see a lot of Father Stafford! Good-by, Mr. Lane. I'll leave you to your private and particular understanding of Tennyson."

      "Claudia!"

      "Hold your tongue," she whispered, in tones of exasperation. "It's very wicked and very impertinent—and the library door's open, and Kate's in there!"

      Eugene fell back in his chair with a horrified look, and Claudia rushed into the house.

CHAPTER II.

       Table of Contents

New Faces and Old Feuds.

       Table of Contents

      There was, no doubt, some excuse for the interest that the ladies at Millstead Manor had betrayed on hearing the name of Father Stafford. In these days, when the discussion of theological topics has emerged from the study into the street, there to jostle persons engaged in their lawful business, a man who makes for himself a position as a prominent champion of any view becomes, to a considerable extent, a public character; and Charles Stafford's career had excited much notice. Although still a young man but little past thirty, he was adored by a powerful body of followers, and received the even greater compliment of hearty detestation from all, both within and without the Church, to whom his views seemed dangerous and pernicious. He had administered a large parish with distinction; he had written a treatise of profound patristic learning and uncompromising sacerdotal pretensions. He had defended the institution of a celibate priesthood, and was known to have treated the Reformation with even less respect than it has been of late accustomed to receive. He had done more than all this: he had impressed all who met him with a character of absolute devotion and disinterestedness, and there were many who thought that a successor to the saints might be found in Stafford, if anywhere in this degenerate age. Yet though he was, or was thought to be, all this, his friends were yet loud in declaring—and ever foremost among them Eugene Lane—that a better, simpler, or more modest man did not exist. For the weakness of humanity, it may be added that Stafford's appearance gave him fully the external aspect most suitable to the part his mind urged him to play; for he was tall and spare; his fine-cut face, clean shaven, displayed the penetrating eyes, prominent nose, and large mobile mouth that the memory associates with pictures of Italian prelates who were also statesmen. These personal characteristics, combined with his attitude on Church matters, caused him to be familiarly known among the flippant by the nickname of the Pope.

      Eugene Lane stood upon his hearthrug, conversing with the Bishop of Bellminster and covertly regarding his betrothed out of the corner of an apprehensive eye. They had not met alone since the morning, and he was naturally anxious to find out whether that unlucky "Claudia" had been overheard. Claudia herself was listening to the conversation of Mr. Morewood, the well-known artist; and Stafford, who had only arrived just before dinner, was still busy in answering Mrs. Lane's questions about his health. Sir George Merton had failed at the last moment, "like a Radical," said Claudia.

      "I am extremely interested in meeting your friend Father Stafford," said the Bishop.

      "Well, he's a first-rate fellow," replied Eugene. "I'm sure you'll like him."

      "You young fellows call him the Pope, don't you?" asked his lordship, who was a genial man.

      "Yes. You don't mind, do you? It's not as if we called him the Archbishop of Canterbury, you know."

      "I shouldn't consider even that very personal," said the Bishop, smiling.

      Dinner was announced. Eugene gave the Bishop's wife his arm, whispering to Claudia as he passed, "Age before impudence"; and that young lady found that she had fallen to the lot of Stafford, whereat she was well pleased. Kate was paired with Haddington, and Mr. Morewood with Aunt Jane. The Bishop, of course, escorted the hostess.

      "And who," said he, almost as soon as he was comfortably settled to his soup, "is the young lady sitting by our friend the Father—the one, I mean, with dark hair, not Miss Bernard? I know her."

      "That's Lady Claudia Territon," said Mrs. Lane. "Very pretty, isn't she? and really a very good girl."

      "Do you say 'really' because, unless you did, I shouldn't believe it?" he asked, with a smile.

      Mrs. Lane had been moved by this idea, but not consciously and, a little distressed at suspecting herself of an unkindness, entertained the Bishop with an entirely fanciful catalogue of Claudia's virtues, which, being overheard by Bob Territon, who had no lady, and was at liberty to listen, occasioned him immense entertainment.

      Claudia, meanwhile, was drifting into a state of some annoyance. Stafford was very courteous and attentive, but he drank nothing, and apparently proposed to dine off dry bread. When she began to question him about his former parish, instead of showing the gratitude that might be expected, he smiled a smile that she found pleasure in describing as inscrutable, and said:

      "Please don't talk down to me, Lady Claudia."

      "I have been taught," responded Claudia, rather stiffly, "to talk about subjects in which my company is presumably interested."

      Stafford looked at her with some surprise. It must be admitted that he had become used to more submission than Claudia seemed inclined to give him.

      "I beg your pardon. You are quite right. Let us talk about it."

      "No, I won't. We will talk about you. You've been very ill, Father Stafford?"

      "A little knocked up."

      "I don't wonder!" she said, with an irritated glance at his plate, which was now furnished with a potato.

      He СКАЧАТЬ