“I know you 'll like them when you do know them; they are so gentle and so persuasive--I might say so fascinating. I assure you, Mr. L'Estrange, I ran a very great risk of going over, as it is called. Indeed, the 'Osservatore Romano' said I had gone over; but that is at least premature. These are things one cannot do without long and deep reflection, and intense self-examination--don't you think so? And the dear old Cardinal Bottesini, who used to come to us every Friday evening, warned me himself against my impulsiveness; and then poor Colonel Bramleigh”--here she raised her handkerchief to her eyes--“he would n't hear of it at all; he was so devotedly attached to me--it was positive love in a man of his mould--that the thought of my being lost to him, as he called it, was maddening; and in fact he--he made it downright impossible--impossible!” And at last she paused, and a very painful expression in her face showed that her thoughts at the moment were far from pleasurable. “Where was I? what was it I was going to say?” resumed she, hurriedly. “Oh, I remember, I was going to tell you that you must on no account 'go over,' and therefore, avoid of all things what they call the 'controversy' here; don't read their little books, and never make close friendships with the Monsignori. You're a young man, and naturally enough would feel flattered at their attentions, and all the social attractions they 'd surround you with. Of course you know nothing of life, and that is the very thing they do understand; and perhaps it is not right of me to say it--it's like a treason--but the women, the great leaders of society, aid them powerfully. They 'd like to bring you over,” said she, raising her glass and looking at him. “You'd really look remarkably well in a chasuble and a cope. They 'd positively fight for you as a domestic chaplain”--and the thought so amused her that she laughed outright, and L'Estrange himself joined her. “I hope I have not wearied you with my cautions and my warnings; but really, when I thought how utterly alone and friendless you must be here, nobody to consult with, none to advise you--for, after all, your mother could scarcely be an efficient guide in such difficulties--I felt it would be cruel not to come to your aid. Have you got a watch? I don't trust that little pendule, though it plays a delicious 'Ave Maria' of Rossini's. What hour is it?” “Half-past four, madam. I am really shocked at the length of my visit.” “Well, I must go away. Perhaps you 'll come and see my sister--she's charming, I assure you, and she 'd like to know you?” “If you will vouchsafe to present me on any other day, I shall be but too grateful; but Sir Marcus Cluff gave me a rendezvous for four o'clock.”