Sarella strongly approved the idea of going down, all four of them together, to Maxwell some Saturday. "Of course," she said, "it would be for two nights, at least. He couldn't expect _us_ to ride back on the Sunday. It will be a treat--we must insist on starting early enough to get down there before the shops shut. I daresay there will be a theatre." Mariquita, suddenly, after five years, promised the chance of hearing Mass and going to Holy Communion, was not surprised that Sarella should only think of it as an outing; she was not a Catholic. But she thought it as well to give Sarella a hint. "I expect," she said, "father will be hoping that you would come to Mass with us." "I? Do you think that? He knows I am not a Catholic--why should he care?" "Oh, he would care. I am sure of that." Sarella laughed. "You sly puss! I believe you want to convert me," she said, shaking her head jocularly at Mariquita. "Of course I should be glad if you were a Catholic. Any Catholic would." "I daresay _you_ would. But your father never troubles himself about such things--he leaves them to the women. He wouldn't care." "Yes, he would. You must not judge my father--he thinks without speaking; he is a very silent person." Sarella laughed again. "Not so silent as you imagine," she said slyly; "he talks to me, my dear." "Very likely. I daresay you are easier to talk to than I am. For I too am silent--I have not seen towns and things like you." "It does make a difference," Sarella admitted complacently. Then, with more covert interest than she showed: "If you really think he would like me to go with you to Mass, I should be glad to please him. After all, one should encourage him in this desire to resume his religious duties. Perhaps he would take us again." "I am quite sure he would like you to hear Mass with us," Mariquita repeated slowly. "Then I will do so. You had better tell me about it--one would not like to do the wrong thing." Perhaps Mariquita told her more about it than Sarella had intended.