“But if he seriously objects, I think you had better not defy his wishes; you may find your position at home made much harder if—-”

“Not a bit harder!” Arthur broke in passionately. “They always did hate me and always will–it doesn’t matter what I do. Besides, how can James seriously object to my going away with you–with my father confessor?”

“He is a Protestant, remember. However, you had better write to him, and we will wait to hear what he thinks. But you must not be impatient, my son; it matters just as much what you do, whether people hate you or love you.”

The rebuke was so gently given that Arthur hardly coloured under it. “Yes, I know,” he answered, si

ghing; “but it is so difficult—-”

“I was sorry you could not come to me on Tuesday evening,” Montanelli said, abruptly introducing a new subject. “The Bishop of Arezzo was here, and I should have liked you to meet him.”

“I had promised one of the students to go to a meeting at his lodgings, and they would have been expecting me.”

“What sort of meeting?”