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“And yet, Father, you speak as if you saw some prospect of the restitution of the property. By what means can the restitution be made?” “By peaceful and worthy means,” Father Benwell answered. “By honorable restoration of the confiscated property to the Church, on the part of the person who is now in possession of it.” Penrose was surprised and interested. “Is the person a Catholic?” he asked, eagerly. “Not yet.” Father Benwell laid a strong emphasis on those two little words. His fat fingers drummed restlessly on the table; his vigilant eyes rested expectantly on Penrose. “Surely you understand me, Arthur?” he added, after an interval. The color rose slowly in the worn face of Penrose. “I am afraid to understand you,” he said. “Why?” “I am not sure that it is my better sense which understands. I am afraid, Father, it may be my vanity and presumption.” Father Benwell leaned back luxuriously in his chair. “I like that modesty,” he said, with a relishing smack of his lips as if modesty was as good as a meal to him. “There is power of the right sort, Arthur, hidden under the diffidence that does you honor. I am more than ever satisfied that I have been right in reporting you as worthy of this most serious trust. I believe the conversion of the owner of Vange Abbey is — in your hands — no more than a matter of time.” “May I ask what his name is?” “Certainly. His name is Lewis Romayne.” “When do you introduce me to him?” “Impossible to say. I have not yet been introduced myself.” “You don’t know Mr. Romayne?” “I have never even seen him.”