confession? As if Mr. Romayne was one of Us! Queen Elizabeth herself
could hardly have said a sharper thing to a poor Catholic priest."

"You clever creature!" said Mrs. Eyrecourt. "How easily you see through
a simple woman like me! There--I give you my hand to kiss and I will
never try to deceive you again. Do you know, Father Benwell, a most
extraordinary wish has suddenly come to me. Please don't be offended. I
wish you were a Jew."

"May I ask why?" Father Benwell inquired, with an apostolic suavity
worthy of the best days of Rome.

Mrs. Eyrecourt explained herself with the modest self-distrust of a
maiden of fifteen. "I am really so ignorant, I hardly know how to put
it. But learned persons have told me that it is the peculiarity of the
Jews--may I say, the amiable peculiarity?--never to make converts. It
would be so nice if you would take a leaf out of their book, when we
have the happiness of receiving you here. My lively imagination pictures
you in a double character. Father Benwell everywhere else; and--say, the
patriarch Abraham at Ten Acres Lodge."

Father Benwell lifted his persuasive hands in courteous protest. "My
dear lady! pray make your mind easy. Not one word on the subject of
religion has passed between Mr. Romayne and myself--"

"I beg your pardon," Mrs. Eyrecourt interposed, "I am afraid I fail to
follow you. My silent son-in-law looks as if he longed to smother me,
and my attention is naturally distracted. You were about to say--?"

"I was about to say, dear Mrs. Eyrecourt, that you are alarming yourself