feet!--Heavens! how lovely! Who did it?"

"Do you admire the frescoes?" said a little voice behind her.

She turned hastily, and saw Father Bowles smiling upon her, his plump
white hands clasped in front of him, as usual. It was an attitude which
seemed to make the simplest words sound intimate and possessive. Laura
shrank from, it in quick annoyance.

"They are very strange, and--and startling," she said stiffly, moving as
far away from the grey-haired priest as possible. "Who painted them?"

"Mr. Helbeck first designed them. But they were carried out for a time by
a youth of great genius." Father Bowles dwelt softly upon the word
"_ge_-nius," as though he loved it. "He was once a lad from these parts,
but has now become a Jesuit. So the work was stopped."

"What a pity!" said Laura impetuously. "He ought to have been a painter."

The priest smiled, and made her an odd little bow. Then, without saying
anything more about the artist, he chattered on about the frescoes and
the chapel, as though he had beside him the most sympathetic of
listeners. Nothing that he said was the least interesting or striking;
and Laura, in a passion of silent dislike, kept up a steady movement
towards the door all the time.

In the passage outside Mrs. Fountain was lingering alone. And when Laura
appeared she caught hold of her stepdaughter and detained her while the
priest passed on. Laura looked at her in surprise, and Mrs. Fountain, in
much agitation, whispered in the girl's ear: