Mary came down one day and found the two in the garden together.
“Come, my child,” she said, “and you too, Master Anthony, if you can spare time to escort us; and take me to the church. I want to see it.”
“The church!” said Isabel, “that is locked: we must go to the Rectory.”
“Locked!” exclaimed Mary, “and is that part of the blessed Reformation? Well, come, at any rate.”
They all went across to the village and down the green towards the Rectory, whose garden adjoined the churchyard on the south side of the church. Anthony walked with something of an air in front of the two ladies. Isabel told her as they went about the Rector and his views. Mary nodded and smiled and seemed to understand.
“We will tap at the window,” said Anthony, “it is the quickest way.”
They came up towards the study window that looked on to the drive; when Anthony, who was in front, suddenly recoiled and then laughed.
“They are at it again,” he said.
The next moment Mary was looking through the window too. The Rector was sitting in his chair opposite, a small dark, clean-shaven man, but his face was set with a look of distressed determination, and his lower lip was sucked in; his eyes were fixed firmly on a tall, slender woman whose back was turned to the window and who seemed to be declaiming, with outstretched hand. The Rector suddenly saw the faces at the window.
“We seem to be interrupting,” said Mary coolly, as she turned away.