He fell for some minutes into an abyss of thought; thought which seemed to range not so much over the circumstances connected with Meynell as over the whole of his own past.
But he emerged from it with a long shake of the head.
"My habits are my habits!" he said to himself with a kind of bitter decision, and laying down his pipe he went back to his papers.
* * * * *
Almost at the same moment the Bishop was interviewing Henry Barron in the little book-lined room beyond the main library, which he kept for the business he most disliked. He never put the distinction into words, but when any member of his clergy was invited to step into the farther room, the person so invited felt depressed.
Barron's substantial presence seemed to fill the little study, as, very much on his defence, he sat tête-à-tête with the Bishop. He had recognized from the beginning that nothing of what he had done was really welcome or acceptable to Bishop Craye. While he, on his side, felt himself a benefactor to the Church in general, and to the Bishop of Markborough in particular, instinctively he knew that the Bishop's taste ungratefully disapproved of him; and the knowledge contributed an extra shade of pomposity to his manner.
He had just given a sketch of the church meeting at Upcote, and of the situation in the village up to date. The Bishop sat absently patting his thin knees, and evidently very much concerned.
"A most unpleasant—a most painful scene. I confess, Mr. Barron, I think it would have been far better if you had avoided it."
Barron held himself rigidly erect.
"My lord, my one object from the beginning has been to force Meynell into the open. For his own sake—for the parish's—the situation must be brought to an end, in some way. The indecency of it at present is intolerable."