Somehow he filled the room with
something real, which was hope and comfort and like warmth, which kept
my soul from shivering. The tears poured from my eyes at first, but the
lump in my throat went away, and when Nigel came back I actually did not
feel frightened, though he looked at me and sneered quietly."
"Did he say anything afterwards?"
"He laughed a little cold laugh and said, 'I see you have been seeking
the consolation of religion. Neurotic women like confessors. I do not
object to your confessing, if you confess your own backslidings and not
mine.'"
"That was the beginning," said Betty speculatively. "The unexpected
thing was the end. Tell me the rest?"
"No one could have dreamed of it," Rosy broke forth. "For weeks he was
almost like other people. He stayed at Stornham and spent his days in
shooting. He professed that he was rather enjoying himself in a dull
way. He encouraged me to go to the vicarage, he invited the Ffolliotts
here. He said Mrs. Ffolliott was a gentlewoman and good for me. He said
it was proper that I should interest myself in parish work. Once or
twice he even brought some little message to me from Mr. Ffolliott."
It was a pitiably simple story.
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