Mrs. Milo interrupted, with an ingratiating smile. "Still, Mr. Farvel is the Rector of our Church. Naturally, he wishes to be quite above-board"—she laid emphasis on the words—"even in his personal affairs."
"No!" Clare came past Farvel, taking her stand between him and Mrs.
Milo almost defensively. "No, I tell you! No! No! No!"
Sue went to her mother. "Miss Crosby is right," she urged quietly. "This is a private matter between her and Mr. Farvel. It goes back quite a way in their lives, doesn't it?" She turned to the clergyman. "Before you came to the Rectory, and before mother and I knew you? So it can't be anything that concerns us, and we haven't any right to know"—this as Mrs. Milo seemed about to protest again. "I'm right, mother. And we're going—both of us."
"We-e-e-ll,"—it was Farvel, uncertain, and troubled.
"Alan, not now," broke in Wallace; "—later."
"May I have another word?" inquired Mrs. Milo, with an inflection that said she had so far been utterly excluded from voicing her opinions. "Mr. Farvel,——"
But Clare did not wait for the clergyman to give his permission. "I say no," she repeated defiantly. And to Farvel, "Please consider me, will you? I'm not going to have a lot of hypocrites gossiping about me!"—this with a pointed stare at the elder woman.
"And, Alan, you said yourself,"—it was Wallace again—"there'll be talk. You don't want that."
Balcome, standing behind Wallace, suddenly laid a hand on his arm. "Say, what's your part in this trouble?" he demanded. "You seem excited."
"Why—why—I haven't any part."