Father Stafford | Page 5

excuse for the interest that the ladies at
Millstead Manor had betrayed on hearing the name of Father Stafford.
In these days, when the discussion of theological topics has emerged
from the study into the street, there to jostle persons engaged in their
lawful business, a man who makes for himself a position as a
prominent champion of any view becomes, to a considerable extent, a
public character; and Charles Stafford's career had excited much notice.
Although still a young man but little past thirty, he was adored by a
powerful body of followers, and received the even greater compliment

of hearty detestation from all, both within and without the Church, to
whom his views seemed dangerous and pernicious. He had
administered a large parish with distinction; he had written a treatise of
profound patristic learning and uncompromising sacerdotal pretensions.
He had defended the institution of a celibate priesthood, and was
known to have treated the Reformation with even less respect than it
has been of late accustomed to receive. He had done more than all this:
he had impressed all who met him with a character of absolute devotion
and disinterestedness, and there were many who thought that a
successor to the saints might be found in Stafford, if anywhere in this
degenerate age. Yet though he was, or was thought to be, all this, his
friends were yet loud in declaring--and ever foremost among them
Eugene Lane--that a better, simpler, or more modest man did not exist.
For the weakness of humanity, it may be added that Stafford's
appearance gave him fully the external aspect most suitable to the part
his mind urged him to play; for he was tall and spare; his fine-cut face,
clean shaven, displayed the penetrating eyes, prominent nose, and large
mobile mouth that the memory associates with pictures of Italian
prelates who were also statesmen. These personal characteristics,
combined with his attitude on Church matters, caused him to be
familiarly known among the flippant by the nickname of the Pope.
Eugene Lane stood upon his hearthrug, conversing with the Bishop of
Bellminster and covertly regarding his betrothed out of the corner of an
apprehensive eye. They had not met alone since the morning, and he
was naturally anxious to find out whether that unlucky "Claudia" had
been overheard. Claudia herself was listening to the conversation of Mr.
Morewood, the well-known artist; and Stafford, who had only arrived
just before dinner, was still busy in answering Mrs. Lane's questions
about his health. Sir George Merton had failed at the last moment, "like
a Radical," said Claudia.
"I am extremely interested in meeting your friend Father Stafford," said
the Bishop.
"Well, he's a first-rate fellow," replied Eugene. "I'm sure you'll like
him."

"You young fellows call him the Pope, don't you?" asked his lordship,
who was a genial man.
"Yes. You don't mind, do you? It's not as if we called him the
Archbishop of Canterbury, you know."
"I shouldn't consider even that very personal," said the Bishop, smiling.
Dinner was announced. Eugene gave the Bishop's wife his arm,
whispering to Claudia as he passed, "Age before impudence"; and that
young lady found that she had fallen to the lot of Stafford, whereat she
was well pleased. Kate was paired with Haddington, and Mr.
Morewood with Aunt Jane. The Bishop, of course, escorted the hostess.
"And who," said he, almost as soon as he was comfortably settled to his
soup, "is the young lady sitting by our friend the Father--the one, I
mean, with dark hair, not Miss Bernard? I know her."
"That's Lady Claudia Territon," said Mrs. Lane. "Very pretty, isn't she?
and really a very good girl."
"Do you say 'really' because, unless you did, I shouldn't believe it?" he
asked, with a smile.
Mrs. Lane had been moved by this idea, but not consciously and, a little
distressed at suspecting herself of an unkindness, entertained the
Bishop with an entirely fanciful catalogue of Claudia's virtues, which,
being overheard by Bob Territon, who had no lady, and was at liberty
to listen, occasioned him immense entertainment.
Claudia, meanwhile, was drifting into a state of some annoyance.
Stafford was very courteous and attentive, but he drank nothing, and
apparently proposed to dine off dry bread. When she began to question
him about his former parish, instead of showing the gratitude that might
be expected, he smiled a smile that she found pleasure in describing as
inscrutable, and said:
"Please don't talk down to me, Lady Claudia."

"I have been taught," responded Claudia, rather stiffly, "to talk about
subjects in which my company is presumably interested."
Stafford looked at her with some surprise. It must be admitted that he
had become used to more submission than Claudia seemed inclined to
give him.
"I beg your pardon. You are