He lifted his hat, and was gone. Jerome entered the house, and found Nita standing at the window of the larger parlour, motionless, her eyes fixed upon the retreating figure of the priest in his long black soutane. Speedwell, his forepaws upon the window-ledge, looked too. Nita did not hear Jerome. She was too absorbed in her watch, but as he entered, he saw her pat her dog’s head and heard a low ‘Ss-s!’ from her lips. ‘Miss Bolton!’ he exclaimed, in astonishment, while Speedwell’s low, thunderous growl was exchanged for two deep, angry barks. Nita started, turned, and laughed. ‘Are you shocked?’ she said. ‘I do so hate that man. I call him the “Polished Panther.” I should not wish to be rude to him if he is a friend of yours, but for myself, I cannot stand him, and that is all about it.’ ‘I can hardly call him a friend, though he is an old acquaintance. Do you know what post he has at Brentwood?’ ‘Oh, you know they go through a course. They don’t keep on teaching the same thing. I heard the other day that he was teaching history—Jesuit history, of course, which proves beyond dispute that the Jesuits always have been right, ever since the first one first founded the order, and that everyone else always has been and will be wrong. That is what Father Somerville is teaching at present, I believe.’ ‘You speak with heat, and surely with a little prejudice,’ said he, smiling, but—insensibly it seemed—his manner towards her had changed, had taken a shade more of interest, of familiarity; there was a subtle difference both in his feelings towards her, and the behaviour which expressed those feelings. ‘Father Somerville is an accomplished——’ ‘Deceiver! Oh yes; I know he is. He would deceive anyone less clever than himself. I dislike him exceedingly, and so does Speedwell. Well, shall we look at your furniture, Mr. Wellfield?’ ‘Thank you,’ said Jerome, accepting the hint, if hint it were—‘if you don’t mind.’ They began with the room in which they were standing, and Nita soon displayed capacities for arranging and settling and turning things to the best advantage, which perfectly astonished Jerome. Numbers of things which he was about to cast aside as being utterly useless, she quickly reclaimed, remarking that they only wanted such and such repairs to make them serviceable and even good. ‘And it would be sinful to throw away a scrap of this old furniture,’ she added. ‘You can’t buy any like it except for fabulous prices, and then you are never sure that you are not being cheated. I am convinced that for fifty pounds or so, you may make the house very nice—at least if you will let me dispose of the fifty pounds for you,’ she added, colouring a little; ‘for I am sure you would be like a child—so helpless—if you went alone to a furniture shop.’ ‘I do not doubt it, and would accept your offer gratefully if I did not think it was imposing on your kindness.’