"Meynell desert the mother of his child—because of poverty—because of his brothers' education!—Meynell! You have known him some years—I only for a few months. But go into the cottages here—talk to the people—ask them, not what he believes, but what he is—what he has been to them. Get one of them, if you can, to credit this absurdity!"
"The Rector's intimate friendship with Miss Puttenham has long been an astonishment—sometimes a scandal—to the village!" exclaimed Barron, doggedly.
Flaxman stared at him in a blank amazement, then flushed. He took a turn up and down the room, after which he returned to the fireside, composed. What was the use of arguing with such a disputant? He felt as though the mere conversation were an insult to Meynell, in which he was forced to participate.
He took a seat deliberately, and put on his magisterial manner, which, however, was much more delicately and unassumingly authoritative than that of other men.
"I think we had better clear up our ideas. You bring me a story—a painful story—concerning a lady with whom we are both acquainted, which may or may not be true. Whether it is true or not is no concern of ours. Neither you nor I have anything to do with it, and legal penalties would certainly follow the diffusion of it. You invite me to connect with it the name of a man for whom I have the deepest respect and admiration; who bears an absolutely stainless record; and you threaten to make use of the charge in connection with the heresy trials now coming on. Now let me give you my advice—for what it may be worth. I should say—as you have asked my opinion—have nothing whatever to do with the matter! If anybody else brings you anonymous letters, tell them something of the law of libel—and something too of the guilt of slander! After all, with a little good will, these are matters that are as easily quelled as raised. A charge so preposterous has only to be firmly met to die away. It is your influence, and not mine, which is important in this matter. You are a permanent resident, and I a mere bird of passage. And"—Flaxman's countenance kindled—"let me just remind you of this: if you want to strengthen Meynell's cause—if you want to win him thousands of new adherents—you have only to launch against him a calumny which is sure to break down—and will inevitably recoil upon you!"
The two men had risen. Barron's face, handsome in feature, save for some thickened lines and the florid tint of the cheeks, had somehow emptied itself of expression while Flaxman was speaking.
"Your advice is no doubt excellent," he said quietly, as he buttoned his coat, "but it is hardly practical. If there is one anonymous letter, there are probably others. If there are letters—there is sure to be talk—and talk cannot be stopped. And in time everything gets into the newspapers."
Flaxman hesitated a moment. Something warned him not to push matters to extremities—to make no breach with Barron—to keep him in play.
"I admit, of course, if this goes beyond a certain point it may be necessary to go to Meynell—it may be necessary for Meynell to go to his Bishop. But at present, if you desire to suppress the thing, you have only to keep your own counsel—and wait. Dawes is a good fellow, and will, I am sure, say nothing. I could, if need be, speak to him myself. I was able to get his boy into a job not long ago."
Barron straightened his shoulders slowly.