Part 19 (1/2)

Woman the apostle--woman the missioner--felt moved to say, ”Why don't you examine her claims to do so, and then aid in furthering them?” But Clare Vidal, looking at the speaker, only quoted to herself, ”Thou art not far from the kingdom of heaven.”

”As a matter of fact,” went on Lamont, ”I find among Catholics far more tolerance--using the word in its broad, work-a-day sense--than among those belonging to any other creed. By the way--are you one, may I ask?”

”Why, of course.”

”I didn't know. Well, you must take my opinion--given in utter ignorance of the fact--for what it's worth. There's a sort of a Catholic colony near my place at home, and the priest is one of my most valued friends.”

Clare brightened.

”Really?” she said. ”How nice. But, Mr Lamont, how is it you live over here? Do you prefer this country to England?”

”I think it prefers me. You see, I can't afford to live in my own place. It's dipped--mortgaged, you understand--almost past praying for.

So it's let, and here I am.”

”So that's why you are here?”

”Yes. The life suits me too. I believe if a miracle were to be worked, and my place started again clear for me, I should still stick out here, or at any rate come out every other year.”

Clare looked at him, and the beautiful Irish eyes, their deep blue framed by thick dark lashes, were sympathetic and soft. She was thinking of the abominable stories Ancram had been spreading about this man; how he had been hounded out of his county for cowardice, and so on.

She repeated--

”So that is why you are out here?”

”Of course,” he answered looking at her with mild astonishment. ”Why else should I be?”

”Oh no. I hope you don't think me very inquisitive, Mr Lamont. Why, it really seems as if I were trying to--to 'pump' you--isn't that the word?”

”But such a thought never entered my head. Why should it?”

Clare felt uncomfortable. There was manifestly no answer to be made to this. So she said--

”By the way, who is this Mr Ancram? You knew him at home, didn't you?”

”Oh yes. Slightly, and didn't care for him at that. He turned up at my place here one night. Peters had picked him up in woeful plight down Pagadi way--and gave me the idea he had come to stay. I've nothing to say against the chap, mind, but I don't care for him.”

Clare was no mischief-maker, still she could not help saying--

”Well, I don't think he's any friend of yours, from what I've heard.”

”No? I suppose not. He's been putting about a yarn or two of his own here with regard to me, with just that substratum of truth about it that makes the half lie the most telling. But--good Lord, what does it matter?”

Clare's eyes opened wide. There was no affectation about this indifference--and how different this man was to the general ruck.

Instead of getting into a fume and promising to call the delinquent to account, and so forth, as most men would have done, this one simply lay back against the hard cold stone, puffed out a cloud of smoke, and said, ”What does it matter?”

”Then you are indifferent to the opinion of other people about you?” she said.

”Utterly. Utterly and entirely. I look at it from this point of view.