"You don't happen to have one about you?"
Barron hesitated and fumbled, and at last produced from his breast-pocket the letter to Dawes, which he had again borrowed from its owner that morning. Meynell put it into a drawer of his writing-table without looking at it.
The two men moved toward the door.
"As to any appeal to you on behalf of a delicate and helpless lady—" said Meynell, betraying emotion for the first time—"that I suppose is useless. But when one remembers her deeds of kindness in this village, her quiet and irreproachable life amongst us all these years, one would have thought that any one bearing the Christian name would have come to me as the Rector of this village on one errand only—to consult how best to protect her from the spread of a cruel and preposterous story! You—I gather—propose to make use of it in the interests of your own Church party."
Barron straightened himself, resenting at once what seemed to him the intrusion of the pastoral note.
"I am heartily sorry for her"—he said coldly. "Naturally it is the women who suffer in these things. But of course you are right—though you put the matter from your own point of view—in assuming that I regard this as no ordinary scandal. I am not at liberty to treat it as such. The honour concerned—is the honour of the Church. To show the intimate connection of creed and life may be a painful—it is also an imperative duty!"
He threw back his head with a passion which, as Meynell clearly recognized, was not without its touch of dignity.
Meynell stepped back.
"We have talked enough, I think. You will of course take the course that seems to you best, and I shall take mine. I bid you good day."
* * * * *