"You don't know Mr. Romayne?"

"I have never even seen him."

These discouraging replies were made with the perfect composure of a man
who saw his way clearly before him. Sinking from one depth of perplexity
to another, Penrose ventured on putting one last question. "How am I to
approach Mr. Romayne?" he asked.

"I can only answer that, Arthur, by admitting you still further into my
confidence. It is disagreeable to me," said the reverend gentleman, with
the most becoming humility, "to speak of myself. But it must be done.
Shall we have a little coffee to help us through the coming extract from
Father Benwell's autobiography? Don't look so serious, my son! When the
occasion justifies it, let us take life lightly." He rang the bell and
ordered the coffee, as if he was the master of the house. The servant
treated him with the most scrupulous respect. He hummed a little tune,
and talked at intervals of the weather, while they were waiting. "Plenty
of sugar, Arthur?" he inquired, when the coffee was brought in. "No!
Even in trifles, I should have been glad to feel that there was perfect
sympathy between us. I like plenty of sugar myself."

Having sweetened his coffee with the closest attention to the process,
he was at liberty to enlighten his young friend. He did it so easily
and so cheerfully that a far less patient man than Penrose would have
listened to him with interest.



CHAPTER III.