Father Stafford. Anthony Hope

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ saw the glance.

      "It wasn't that," he said; "that suits me very well."

      Claudia knew that a pretty girl may say most things, so she said:

      "I don't believe it. You're killing yourself. Why don't you do as the Bishop does?"

      The Bishop, good man, was at this moment drinking champagne.

      "Men have different ways of living," he answered evasively.

      "I think yours is a very bad way. Why do you do it?"

      "I'm sure you will forgive me if I decline to discuss the question just now. I notice you take a little wine. You probably would not care to explain why."

      "I take it because I like it."

      "And I don't take it because I like it."

      Claudia had a feeling that she was being snubbed, and her impression was confirmed when Stafford, a moment afterward, turned to Kate Bernard, who sat on his left hand, and was soon deep in reminiscences of old visits to the Manor, with which Kate contrived to intermingle a little flattery that Stafford recognized only to ignore. They had known one another well in earlier days, and Kate was immensely pleased at finding her playfellow both famous and not forgetful.

      Eugene looked on from his seat at the foot of the table with silent wonder. Here was a man who might and indeed ought to talk to Claudia, and yet was devoting himself to Kate.

      "I suppose it's on the same principle that he takes water instead of champagne," he thought; but the situation amused him, and he darted at Claudia a look that conveyed to that young lady the urgent idea that she was, as boys say, "dared" to make Father Stafford talk to her. This was quite enough. Helped by the unconscious alliance of Haddington, who thought Miss Bernard had let him alone quite long enough, she seized her opportunity, and said in the softest voice:

      "Father Stafford?"

      Stafford turned his head, and found fixed upon him a pair of large, dark eyes, brimming over with mingled contrition and admiration.

      "I am so sorry—but—but I thought you looked so ill."

      Stafford was unpleasantly conscious of being human. The triumph of wickedness is a spectacle from which we may well avert our eyes. Suffice it to say that a quarter of an hour later Claudia returned Eugene's glance with a look of triumph and scorn.

      Meanwhile, trouble had arisen between the Bishop and Mr. Morewood. Morewood was an artist of great ability, originality, and skill; and if he had not attained the honors of the Academy, it was perhaps more of his own fault than that of the exalted body in question, as he always treated it with an ostentatious contumely. After all, the Academy must be allowed its feelings. Moreover, his opinions on many subjects were known to be extreme, and he was not chary of displaying them. He was sitting on Mrs. Lane's left, opposite the Bishop, and the latter had started with his hostess a discussion of the relation between religion and art. All went harmoniously for a time; they agreed that religion had ceased to inspire art, and that it was a very regrettable thing; and there, one would have thought the subject—not being a new one—might well have been left. Suddenly, however, Mr. Morewood broke in:

      "Religion has ceased to inspire art because it has lost its own inspiration, and having so ceased, it has lost its only use."

      The Bishop was annoyed. A well-bred man himself, he disliked what seemed to him ill-bred attacks on opinions which his position proclaimed him to hold.

      "You cannot expect me to assent to either of your propositions, Mr. Morewood," he said. "If I believed them, you know, I should not be in the place I am."

      "They're true, for all that," retorted Morewood. "And what is it to be traced to?"

      "I'm sure I don't know," said poor Mrs. Lane.

      "Why, to Established Churches, of course. As long as fancies and imaginary beings are left free to each man to construct or destroy as he will—or again, I may say, as long as they are fluid—they subserve the pleasurableness of life. But when you take in hand and make a Church out of them, and all that, what can you expect?"

      "I think you must be confusing the Church with the Royal Academy," observed the Bishop, with some acidity.

      "There would be plenty of excuse for me, if I did," replied Morewood. "There's no truth and no zeal in either of them."

      "If you please, we will not discuss the truth. But as to the zeal, what do you say to the example of it among us now?" And the Bishop, lowering his voice, indicated Stafford.

      Morewood directed a glance at him.

      "He's mad!" he said briefly.

      "I wish there were a few more with the same mania about."

      "You don't believe all he does?"

      "Perhaps I can't see all he does," said the Bishop, with a touch of sadness.

      "How do you mean?"

      "I have been longer in the cave, and perhaps I have peered too much through cave-spectacles."

      Morewood looked at him for a moment.

      "I'm sorry if I've been rude, Bishop," he said more quietly, "but a man must say what he thinks."

      "Not at all times," said the Bishop; and he turned pointedly to Mrs. Lane and began to discuss indifferent matters.

      Morewood looked round with a discontented air. Miss Chambers was mortally angry with him and had turned to Bob Territon, whom she was trying to persuade to come to a bazaar at Bellminster on the Monday. Bob was recalcitrant, and here too the atmosphere became a little disturbed. The only people apparently content were Kate and Haddington and Lady Claudia and Stafford. To the rest it was a relief when Mrs. Lane gave the signal to rise.

      Matters improved, however, in the drawing-room. The Bishop and Stafford were soon deep in conversation; and Claudia, thus deprived of her former companion, condescended to be very gracious to Mr. Morewood, in the secret hope that that eccentric genius would make her the talk of the studios next summer by painting her portrait. Haddington and Bob had vanished with cigars; and Eugene looking round and seeing that all was peace, said to himself in an access of dutifulness. "Now for it!" and crossed over to where Kate sat, and invited her to accompany him into the garden.

      Kate acquiesced, but showed little other sign of relaxing her attitude of lofty displeasure. She left Eugene to begin.

      "I'm awfully sorry, Kate, if you were vexed this morning."

      Absolute silence.

      "But, you see, as host here, I couldn't very well turn out Lady Claudia."

      "Why don't you say Claudia?" asked Kate, in sarcastic tones.

      Eugene felt inclined to fly, but he recognized that his only chance lay in pretending innocence when he had it not.

      "Are we to quarrel about a trifle of that sort?" he asked; "a girl I've known like a sister for the last ten years!"

      Kate smiled bitterly.

СКАЧАТЬ