Barry took a firmer grasp on his hat and cane, and glanced anxiously toward the hall door as if to make sure of his means of escape in the event of an emergency.
“Why,” he stammered, “I wanted to see the bishop alone,—a—confidentially, you know. A matter of some importance.”
“But we shouldn’t have any secrets that we keep from each other, Barry. And I’m sure that if we go to the bishop together and agree on what to ask him, we can prevail on him to do almost anything for us. Oh, dear! I wish the person that’s in there would come out quick.”
Barry dragged his watch from his pocket and glanced at it.
“I’ve got to go,” he said. “I can’t wait any longer. Important business at the mill.”
He rose and started toward the hall, but Miss Chichester was nearest that avenue of escape, and she intercepted him and laid a beseeching hand on his arm.
“Don’t, Barry! Don’t go! It won’t take five minutes, once the bishop’s at liberty.”
Barry, in a fever of apprehension, was contemplating a sudden break for the street, when the library door opened and the bishop and his caller appeared. The visitor was the lady who, some weeks before, in a petulant mood, had declared her purpose of seeking comfort and satisfaction in another communion that recognizes the historic episcopate. But she had not gone there. She had felt, on second thought, that she could be of more service to Christianity by retaining her existing church connections and taking up arms against the rector. She was saying, as she emerged into the reception room:
“The man is impossible, Bishop; perfectly impossible! He has driven most of us from the Church already, and the rest will follow very soon unless you suppress him without delay. Oh, here’s Jane Chichester. Miss Chichester will agree with me, I’m sure.”