‘I don’t suppose we shall see much of him; he is always on the stampede,’ Lady Millbank is saying. ‘One would think from his habits that he was a criminal running before the law. I told him so. Ah’—rising suddenly and looking out of the window—‘there he is! And coming here! Of course, to call upon Mr. Barry. Your brother was a great friend of George Crosby’s father, I think. Eh?’
‘There was a friendship,’ says Miss Barry. ‘Susan, how pale you are! Come out of that dark corner, child, and sit near the window. The air will do you good.’
‘I like being here,’ says Susan quickly.
There is no time to say any more. Susan’s ‘thief’ is in the room.
CHAPTER XIX.
‘A secret is in my custody if I keep it; but if I blab it, it is I that am prisoner.’
The Rector has come in, and has stayed to have a cup of tea with Mr. Crosby. Lady Millbank declares herself charmed and very jealous. He never leaves his beloved books to see her! Mr. Barry smiles, and then falls back upon the memories of Crosby’s father that are always so dear to him. He is a tall, gaunt man, severe, with a far-away look, and the indifferent air of those who live with dead authors, and who are, besides, a little worried by the money transactions of life.
To have to think of the daily needs is hateful to Mr. Barry, who ought to have been a bachelor, with nothing but his notes to worry him, living in a world in which he could sit loosely. Even now he sometimes forgets how time flies, and to tell him that Susan is almost a woman grown would have roused him to quite an extraordinary wonder. The world goes on whilst he stands still, and to-day the dragging of him out of his shell, even to the ordinary business of a drawing-room conversation, has bewildered him. After a little while he retires.
His sermons, his visits to the sick, the poor (he never visits the rich unless they specially send for him)—all these things concern him. But when he knows himself happiest is when his study-door is shut for the night to all intruders, and he can read, read, read, until the little hours begin to chime.
As Crosby entered the drawing-room, Susan felt her heart stand still. She rose mechanically, and held out her hand to him as he came up to her, but she did not lift her eyes. She felt vaguely conscious that she had flushed over cheek and brow. Such a blush! So quick! so deep! Oh, he must have seen it, and known the meaning of it!