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"Isn't it a charming place?" he said with enthusiasm. "Clovelly is the
most remarkable and most beautiful village in England. I have so enjoyed
my little holiday--excursions by sea and excursions by land--you know I
feel quite young again?"
He lifted his eyebrows playfully, and rubbed his plump hands one over
the other with such an intolerably innocent air of enjoyment that Stella
positively hated him. She felt her capacity for self-restraint failing
her. Under the influence of strong emotion her thoughts lost their
customary discipline. In attempting to fathom Father Benwell, she was
conscious of having undertaken a task which required more pliable moral
qualities than she possessed. To her own unutterable annoyance, she was
at a loss what to say next.
At that critical moment her mother appeared--eager for news of the
conquest of Romayne.
"My dear child, how pale you look!" said Mrs. Eyrecourt. "Come with me
directly--you must have a glass of wine."
This dexterous device for entrapping Stella into a private conversation
failed.


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