nd 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.

'If I move, you'll move too, and uncertainty will begin for me again,' he
seemed to say.

Mr. Pendyce disengaged his leg, rose, and went to the door. Before
reaching it he turned and came back to the table.

"Barter," he said, "I'm not thinking of myself--I'm not thinking of
myself--we've been here for generations--it's the principle." His face
had the least twist to one side, as though conforming to a kink in his
philosophy; his eyes looked sad and restless.

And the Rector, watching the door for the sight of his enemy, also
thought:

'I'm not thinking of myself--I'm satisfied that I did right--I'm Rector
of this parish it's the principle.'

The spaniel John gave three short barks, one for each of the persons who
entered the room. They were Mrs. Pendyce, Mr. Paramor, and Gregory
Vigil.

"Where's George?" asked the Squire, but no one answered him.

The Rector, who had resumed his seat, stared at a little gold cross which
he had taken out of his waistcoat pocket. Mr. Paramor lifted a vase and
sniffed at the rose it contained; Gregory walked to the window.

When Mr. Pendyce realised that his son had not come, he went to the door
and held it open.

"Be good enough to take John out, Margery," he said. "John!"

The spaniel John, seeing what lay before him, rolled over on his back.

Mrs. Pendyce fixed her eyes on her husband, and in those eyes she put all
the words which the nature of a lady did not suffer her to speak.

'I claim to be here. Let me stay; it is my right. Don't send me away.'
So her eyes spoke, and so those of the spaniel John, lying on his back,
in which attitude he knew that he was hard to move