He smiled again reassuringly.
“I should suspect it was a clever trick,” he said. “I don’t think Master Laurie’s likely to get mixed up with the devil in that way. There’s plenty of easier ways than that.”
“Do you think I should write to Mr. Cathcart?”
“Just as you like. He’s a convert, isn’t he? I believe I’ve heard his name.”
“I think so.”
“Well, it wouldn’t do any harm; though I should suspect not much good.”
Maggie was silent.
“Just tell Master Laurie not to play tricks,” said the priest. “He’s got a good, sensible friend in Mr. Morton. I can see that. And don’t trouble your head too much about it, my child.”
When Maggie was gone, he went out to finish his cigar, and found to his pleasure that it was still alight, and after a puff or two it went very well.
He thought about his interview for a few minutes as he walked up and down, taking the bright winter air. It explained a good deal. He had begun to be a little anxious about this boy. It was not that Laurie had actually neglected his religion while at Stantons; he was always in his place at Mass on Sundays, and even, very occasionally, on weekdays as well. And he had had a Mass said for Amy Nugent. But even as far back as the beginning of the previous year, there had been an air about him not altogether reassuring.
Well, this at any rate was a small commentary on the present situation. …