“We don’t allow a good Catholic to drift into domestic retirement, who is worthy of better things,” he said.  “The Church, Romayne wishes to make use of you.  I never flattered any one in my life, but I may say before your face what I have said behind your back.  A man of your strict sense of honor—­of your intellect—­of your high aspirations—­of your personal charm and influence—­is not a man whom we can allow to run to waste.  Open your mind, my friend, fairly to me, and I will open my mind fairly to you.  Let me set the example.  I say it with authority; an enviable future is before you.”

Romayne’s pale cheeks flushed with excitement.  “What future?” he asked, eagerly.  “Am I free to choose?  Must I remind you that a man with a wife cannot think only of himself?”

“Suppose you were not a man with a wife.”

“What do you mean?”

“Romayne, I am trying to break my way through that inveterate reserve which is one of the failings in your character.  Unless you can prevail on yourself to tell me those secret thoughts, those unexpressed regrets, which you can confide to no other man, this conversation must come to an end.  Is there no yearning, in your inmost soul, for anything beyond the position which you now occupy?”

There was a pause.  The flush on Romayne’s face faded away.  He was silent.

“You are not in the confessional,” Father Benwell reminded him, with melancholy submission to circumstances.  “You are under no obligation to answer me.”

Romayne roused himself.  He spoke in low, reluctant tones.  “I am afraid to answer you,” he said.

That apparently discouraging reply armed Father Benwell with the absolute confidence of success which he had thus far failed to feel.  He wound his way deeper and deeper into Romayne’s mind, with the delicate ingenuity of penetration, of which the practice of years had made him master.

“Perhaps I have failed to make myself clearly understood,” he said.  “I will try to put it more plainly.  You are no half-hearted man, Romayne.  What you believe, you believe fervently.  Impressions are not dimly and slowly produced on your mind.  As the necessary result, your conversion being once accomplished, your whole soul is given to the Faith that is in you.  Do I read your character rightly?”

“So far as I know it—­yes.”

Father Benwell went on.

“Bear in mind what I have just said,” he resumed; “and you will understand why I feel it my duty to press the question which you have not answered yet.  You have found in the Catholic Faith the peace of mind which you have failed to obtain by other means.  If I had been dealing with an ordinary man, I should have expected from the change no happier result than this.  But I ask You, has that blessed influence taken no deeper and nobler hold on your heart?  Can you truly say to me, ’I am content with what I have gained; I wish for no more’?”