Quick tears sprang to the rector’s eyes, and he went over and laid an affectionate arm about the young man’s shoulders.
“You shall have it,” he said. “You shall have my heart’s best.”
The echo of the front-door bell came to Barry’s ears from somewhere in the house, and he started up in alarm, and cast an apprehensive glance down the hall through the half-opened door. In the distance he caught sight of a woman’s skirts, and heard, indistinctly, her voice in inquiry.
“It’s Jane,” he whispered. “She’s followed me here. She’s got me cornered. Farrar, if you really want to do something for me, you’ve got a chance to do it now.”
“What shall I do, Barry?”
“Switch her off the track. I can’t meet her to-day. Positively I can’t. I—I’m in no condition.”
“You don’t need to meet her.”
“But she’ll insist on it. She knows I’m here. Can’t—can’t you let me out the back way?”
He stood there, a picture of abject fright, and cringing irresolution. He had not been afraid to talk face to face with Richard Malleson, but in the prospect of meeting Jane Chichester he became the veriest coward. The rector led him through the dining-room to the side-door of the rectory, and thence he made his escape to the street.