“I forget if you knew Paramor. He was before your time. He was at Harrow with me.”
The Rector took a prolonged sip.
“I shall be in the way,” he said. “I'll take myself off'.”
The Squire put out his hand affectionately.
“No, no, Barter, don't you go. It's all safe with you. I mean to act. I can't stand this uncertainty. My wife's cousin Vigil is coming too—he's her guardian. I wired for him. You know Vigil? He was about your time.”
The Rector turned crimson, and set his underlip. Having scented his enemy, nothing would now persuade him to withdraw; and the conviction that he had only done his duty, a little shaken by the Squire's confidence, returned as though by magic.
“Yes, I know him.”
“We'll have it all out here,” muttered Mr. Pendyce, “over this port. There's the carriage. Get up, John.”
The spaniel John rose heavily, looked sardonically at Mr. Barter, and again flopped down against his master's leg.
“Get up, John,” said Mr. Pendyce again. The spaniel John snored.