The Parson returned to the Vicarage, where Lionel and Joyce awaited him. One glance at his grim face sufficed. A strong man had been hit hard in a weak place. Possibly, he accepted punishment penitentially. But it was not his way to admit that to others. Joyce flew at him, kissing him tenderly, holding his hands. Lionel felt more in love than ever as he watched a pretty display of sympathy and pity. With much feeling he said regretfully:
“It has been beastly for you, sir.”
The Parson was in no mood to tell a tale even if it reflected credit on himself. He set forth the fact that mattered:
“Sir Geoffrey refuses his sanction. I say this for him. He accepts full responsibility. His position is archaic, impregnable on that account to the assault of reason.”
Lionel flushed, but he replied eagerly:
“My mother will fight for us. I have her word. I wish she could keep out of it.”
“Lady Pomfret will meet what I have met—ah obstinate faith, a conscience clearly sincere though perverted. This unconscious abuse of Authority is basic, racial. It is sapping its own foundations everywhere, but how can your father be made to see that?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Nor I,” murmured Joyce.