"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.