exclaimed.

"My dear sir, I will come and see you again, with the greatest pleasure,
on any day that you may appoint--the earlier day the better. Come!
come! let us laugh. I don't say it disrespectfully, but poor dear Mrs.
Eyrecourt has been more amusing than ever. I expect to see our excellent
Archbishop to-morrow, and I must really tell him how the good lady felt
insulted when her Catholic daughter offered to pray for her. There is
hardly anything more humorous, even in Moliere. And the double chin, and
the red nose--all the fault of those dreadful Papists. Oh, dear me,
you still take it seriously. How I wish you had my sense of humor! When
shall I come again, and tell you how the Archbishop likes the story of
the nun's mother?"

He held out his hand with irresistible cordiality. Romayne took it
gratefully--still bent, however, on making atonement.

"Let me first do myself the honor of calling on You," he said. "I am
in no state to open my mind--as I might have wished to open it to
you--after what has happened. In a day or two more--"

"Say the day after to-morrow," Father Benwell hospitably suggested. "Do
me a great favor. Come and eat your bit of mutton at my lodgings. Six
o'clock, if you like--and some remarkably good claret, a present from
one of the Faithful. You will? That's hearty! And do promise me to
think no more of our little domestic comedy. Relieve your mind. Look at
Wiseman's 'Recollections of the Popes.' Good-by--God bless you!"

The servant who opened the house door for Father Benwell was agreeably
surprised by the Papist's cheerfulness. "He isn't half a bad fellow,"