"Oh, you must be mistaken, Anna!" said Tom Singleton, with his easy
good-nature. "Brian could not have told you in earnest that he is a
Catholic. The thing is absurd."
"Ask him for yourself, then," answered Mrs. Singleton. "You will soon
discover whether or not he is in earnest."
"I can not say that I feel interested in his religious opinions, so why
should I ask him?"
"In order to find whether or not I am mistaken, and in order to put
your uncle on his guard; for I am sure that he would not be pleased by
such a discovery."
"Then let him make it for himself," said Singleton. "It is no affair
of mine. I should feel like a sneak if I meddled with such a matter;
and, what is more, the old fellow would very quickly let me know that
he thought me one. Besides, it makes no difference. Earle is out of the
running. His own obstinacy settles that."
"Not so much as you think, perhaps," said the lady. "Why is he here if
the matter is settled? Believe it or not, his chance of inheriting the
fortune is better than yours to-day."
"Well, if so, let the best man win," returned Singleton,
philosophically. "I shall certainly not descend to any trickery to get
the better of him. Of course I am anxious for the fortune, but to show
my anxiety would be a very poor way to secure it. I firmly believe that
what makes my uncle lean so to Brian is that he does not appear to care
for anything that he can do for him."
"And in my opinion that indifference is all appearance," observed Mrs.
Singleton, sharply. "If he cares nothing for what your uncle can do,
why is he in attendance on him? But, however that may be, I shall see
that his extraordinary change of religion becomes known."
"If you go to my uncle with such information, you will only harm
yourself," said Singleton, warningly.
"I shall not think of going to him," she answered. "I know very well
that his sentiments toward me are not sufficiently cordial to make that
safe. I shall manage that Brian will give the information himself."
"If you take my advice, you will let the matter alone," said her
husband.
But he knew very well that she would not take his advice, and he said
to himself that it was well for her to do as she liked. She would not
be satisfied without doing so; and, after all, if Brian _had_ been so
foolish as to become a Roman Catholic, there was no objection to his
uncle's knowing it. Earle himself certainly did not desire secrecy, or
else he would not have mentioned the fact so openly and carelessly.
And, indeed, nothing was further from Earle's mind than any desire
for secrecy. Therefore, he fell with the readiest ease into the trap
which Mrs. Singleton soon laid for him. It was one evening, when the
household party was assembled in the drawing room after dinner, that
she led the conversation to foreign politics, and the position of the
Papacy in European affairs. Mr. Singleton, who took much more interest
than the average American usually does in these affairs, was speedily
led to express himself strongly against the Papal claim to temporal
sovereignty.
Earle looked up. "I think," he observed, in his pleasant but resolute
voice, "that you have, perhaps, never considered that question in its
true bearings."
"_I_ have never considered it in its true bearings!" said Mr.
Singleton, astonished beyond measure by this bold challenge; for he
regarded himself, and was regarded by his friends, as an authority on
the subject of European politics. "In that case will you be kind enough
to inform me what are its true bearings?"
The request was sarcastic, but Earle answered it with the utmost
seriousness. "Certainly," he said, "to the best of my ability." And,
before Mr. Singleton could disclaim any desire to be taken in earnest
he proceeded to state with great clearness the historical proofs and
arguments in favor of the Pope's sovereignty.
His little audience listened with a surprise which yielded, in spite of
themselves, to interest. The ideas and facts presented were all new to
them, and to one, at least, seemed unanswerable.
It has been already said that Marion had a mind free from prejudice;
she had also a mind quick and keen in its power of apprehension. She
caught the drift and force of Earle's statements before any one else
did, and said to herself, "That must be true!" Yet, even while she
listened with attention, it was characteristic of her that she also
observed with amusement the scene which the group before her presented.
Mr. Singleton, leaning back in his chair, was frowning with impatience,
and the air of one who through courtesy only lends an unwilling ear.
Tom Singleton was watching his cousin with an expression compounded
of surprise, curiosity, and an involuntary admiration; while Mrs.
Singleton looked down demurely at a fan which she opened and shut, her
lips wearing a smile of mingled amusement and gratification.
In the midst of this group Earle, with an air of the most quiet
composure, was laying down his propositions one after another,
unobservant of and indifferent to the expressions on the different
faces around him. "He is very brave," thought Marion; "but surely he
is also very foolish. Why should he unnecessarily contradict and vex
the old man, who can do so much for him?" A sense of irritation mingled
with the admiration which she could not withhold from him. "It would
have been easy to say nothing," she thought again; "and yet how well he
speaks!"
He did indeed speak well--so well that the attention of Mr. Singleton
was gradually drawn from the matter to the manner of his speech. He
turned and looked keenly at the young man from under his bent brows.
"You speak," he said, "like an advocate of the cause. How is that?"
"I hope that I should be an advocate of any cause which I believed to
be just," answered Brian, quietly; "but I am in a special manner the
advocate of this, because I am a Catholic."
"A Catholic!" Mr. Singleton looked as if he could hardly believe the
evidence of his ears. "It is not possible that you mean a _Romanist_?"
Earle bent his head, smiling a little. "I mean just that," he said; "or
at least what _you_ mean by that. The term is neither very correct nor
very courteous, but it expresses the fact clearly enough."
This coolness had the usual effect of provoking Mr. Singleton, yet of
making him feel the uselessness of expressing vexation. It was evident
that his disgust was as great as his surprise, but he waited a moment
before giving expression to either. Then he said, curtly:--
"It is no affair of mine what you choose to call yourself, but I should
have more respect for your sense if you told me you were a Buddhist."
"Very likely," returned Earle, with composure; "for in that case I
should be following the last whim of fashionable intellectual folly.
But, you see, I thought it more sensible to go back to the old faith of
our fathers."
"You might have gone back to paganism, then," sneered the other. "That
was the faith of our fathers also."
"Very true," assented the young man; "and in that also I should have
been following a large train. But I was not in search of a faith simply
because it had been that of my fathers. I was in search of a faith
which bore the marks of truth, and I found it to be that which some of
my fathers unfortunately discarded."
"And you have absolutely joined the Church of Rome?" demanded Mr.
Singleton, with ominous calmness.
"Yes," Earle replied, as calmly; "some months ago."
The elder man took up a newspaper. "In that case," he observed, in a
tone of icy coldness, "I have nothing more to say. The step is one with
which I have no sympathy and very little tolerance; but, fortunately,
it does not concern me at all."
Mrs. Singleton shot a glance at her husband, which Marion saw was
one of triumph. She knew instantly that the conversation which led
to Earle's avowal had not been a matter of accident. "What a pretty
trick!" she said, mentally, and, with a sudden impulse to show her
sympathy with courage, she addressed the young man:--
"You have at least the pleasure of knowing, Mr. Earle, that you belong
to the same faith as most of the best and many of the greatest people
of the world."
Earle looked at her with surprise. Such a speech, under the
circumstances, was the last he could have expected from her; for,
notwithstanding the glamour of her beauty, he had read her accurately
enough to perceive her worldliness, and her desire for all that the
world could give. He knew that she was a favorite of his uncle's,
and could not have imagined that she would brave the displeasure of
the latter in a manner so unnecessary. Perhaps Mr. Singleton was
also surprised--at least he glanced up at her quickly, while Earle
answered:--
"It is a deeper satisfaction still to believe that it is a faith which
has made the best of those people what they are, and which can derive
no lustre from the greatest."
"I have always observed that Roman Catholics are very enthusiastic
about their religion," said Mrs. Singleton; "but I did not know before,
Marion, that you inclined that way."
"What way?" asked Marion, coolly. "To enthusiasm or to Catholicity? As
a matter of fact, I do not incline to either. But I have seen a great
deal of Catholics, and admire many things about them. Indeed, all of my
best friends belong to that religion."
"Then we may expect you to follow in Brian's footsteps before long,"
said the lady, with malicious sweetness.
"There is nothing that I am aware of more improbable," replied Marion.
She rose then, conscious that the conversation, if carried farther,
might develop more unpleasantness, and moved toward the piano. Earle
followed her, in order to lift the lid of the instrument, and as he did
so said, smilingly:--
"I think you are quite right to endeavor to restore harmony by sweet
sounds. Is it not extraordinary that there should be no such potent
cause of discord in the world as a question of religion?"
"I suppose it is because people feel more strongly on that subject
than on any other," she answered, looking up at him, and wondering a
little that a man so young, with all the world before him, and all its
ambitions to tempt him, should think of religion at all.
The next day she found an opportunity to say this frankly. During
the morning she strolled into the garden with a book, and there
encountered Earle, leaning on a stone-wall that skirted the lower
boundaries of the grounds, sketching a pretty meadow and group of trees
beyond. She came upon him unobserved--for he was standing with his back
to the path along which she advanced,--and the sound of her clear,
musical voice was the first intimation he had of her presence.
"How rapidly you sketch, Mr. Earle, and how well!" she said.
He started and turned, to find her standing so near that she overlooked
his work. She smiled as his astonished eyes met her own. "Do I disturb
you?" she asked. "If so I will go away."
"You have certainly not disturbed me up to the present moment," he
answered. "Have you been here long?"
"Only a few minutes. You were so absorbed that you did not observe me,
and I was so interested in watching you that I did not care to speak.
But if I disturb you--"
"Why should you disturb me if you care to stay? You will not obstruct
my view of the meadow or trees. It is a pretty little scene, is it not?"
"Very," she answered, moving to the wall, at which she paused, a few
feet distant from him, and laid her book down on the ledge which it
conveniently presented. Then she stood silent for a minute, looking
at the shadow-dappled landscape, and conscious of a sense of pique,
provoked by the cool indifference of his reply. She knew that to many
men her presence _would_ obstruct their view of the fairest scene
nature might present, and she could perceive no reason why this man
should be different from them,--why her beauty, which his artist-glance
had evidently appreciated, seemed to have so little effect upon him.
Her vanity had become more insistent in its demands, from the homage
which had been offered her; and the withholding this homage had already
become a thing insufferable. But she was far too proud to show this, as
many weaker women do; and, after a short interval, she said, lightly
enough:--
"What a very great pleasure it must be when one is able to set down
beauty as you are doing--to preserve and make it one's own! I have a
friend who loves art devotedly--in fact, she is a true artist,--and I
have always the same feeling when I watch her at work."
"The power is certainly a great delight," said Earle, going on with
his rapid strokes; "but you must not imagine that it is all delight.
There is a great deal of drudgery in this as in all other arts; and,
worse still, there are times of infinite disgust as well as profound
discouragement."
"So Claire used to say--at least, she spoke of discouragement, but I
never heard her speak of disgust."
"Claire!" Earle looked at her now with his quick, bright glance. "I
wonder if I do not know of whom you speak. There can hardly be more
than one Claire who is a true artist."
"There may be a hundred, for aught I know," replied Marion, carelessly;
"but I mean Claire Alford. Her father was a distinguished artist, I
believe. You may have heard of him."
"Everyone has heard of him, I imagine," returned Earle, a little
dryly; "but I knew him well in my boyhood, and he did more than any one
else to fan whatever artistic flame I possess. I was, therefore, very
glad when I chanced to meet his daughter about a month ago."
"You met Claire? That can hardly be! She is abroad."
"I met her a few days before she sailed. The lady with whom she has
gone, and with whom she was then staying, is the widow of an artist
whom I knew, and is herself a great friend of mine."
"And so you have met Claire! I really don't know why it should surprise
me, yet it does. What did you think of her? I ask the question without
hesitation, because I know it is impossible for any one to think ill of
her, and the well is only in proportion as you know or divine her."
"I am sure of that," said Earle, with a kindly smile for the speaker.
"She charmed me at first sight: she is so simple, so candid, so
unconscious of herself, so evidently intent upon high aims."
"Yes, she is all of that," replied Marion. Involuntarily her voice fell
as she thought of how little any word of this commendation could be
applied to herself. "Did you find out that you had something in common
beside your love of art?" she asked, after an instant. "Claire is a
fervent Catholic."
"Is she?" he said, with interest. "No, I did not discover it. Nothing
brought up the subject of religion. But I am not surprised. There is an
air about her that made me call her in my own mind a vestal of art. I
can easily realize that she is something more and better than that."
"It is a pretty name, and suits her well--a vestal of art," said
Marion. She was silent then for a minute or two, and stood looking with
level gaze from under the broad brim of her sun-hat at the pastoral
meadow-scene, unconscious for once what a picture she herself made, as
she leaned on the stone-wall, with a spreading mulberry-tree throwing
its chequered shade down upon her graceful figure. Artist instinct drew
Earle's eyes upon her, and he was saying to himself, "How much I should
like to sketch her! Shall I ask her permission to do so?" when she
suddenly turned her face toward him and spoke.
"Do you know, Mr. Earle," she said, "that you astonished me very
much last night? For the matter of that"--with a slight laugh,--"I
suppose you astonished everyone. But I am bold enough to express my
astonishment, because I should really like to know what you meant."
"I shall be very happy to tell you," Earle answered, "if you will give
me an idea what _you_ mean."
"I mean this. Why did you vex Mr. Singleton by unnecessary
contradiction, and an unnecessary avowal of what you knew would annoy
if it did not seriously alienate him?"
The young man regarded her with surprise. "Simply because I had no
alternative," he replied. "Nothing was further from my desire than to
vex him. But why, in the name of all that is reasonable, should people
be vexed by hearing the truth? Is not that what we all wish, ostensibly
at least--to learn and to believe _the truth_ about a thing, not mere
fancies or ideas?"
"Ye--s," said Marion, hesitatingly. "I suppose no one would acknowledge
that he did not wish to know the truth; but you are aware that nothing
is more offensive than the truth to people who have strong convictions
against it."
"So much the worse for such people, then."
"And so much the worse sometimes for those who persist in enforcing
enlightenment upon them."
"I really do not think that is my character," he said. "I have never,
to my knowledge, attempted to force enlightenment upon any one. But
sometimes--as was the case last night--one must speak (even when
speaking will serve no end of conviction), or be guilty of cowardice
and tacit deception."
Marion shook her head, in protest, apparently, against these views; but
probably she felt the uselessness of combating them. At least when she
spoke again it was to say, abruptly:--
"But how on earth do you chance to take that particular view of truth?"