s worse than all--the very
thing we're trying to prevent! We've been here, father and son--father
and son--for generations!"

"All the more shame," burst out Gregory, "if you can't stand by a woman
at the end of them----!"

Mr. Paramor made a gesture of reproof.

"There's moderation in all things," he said. "Are you sure that Mrs.
Bellew requires protection? If you are right, I agree; but are you
right?"

"I will answer for it," said Gregory.

Mr. Paramor paused a full minute with his head resting on his hand.

"I am sorry," he said at last, "I must trust to my own judgment."

The Squire looked up.

"If the worst comes to the worst, can I cut the entail, Paramor?"

"No."

"What? But that's all wrong--that's----"

"You can't have it both ways," said Mr. Paramor.

The Squire looked at him dubiously, then blurted out:

"If I choose to leave him nothing but the estate, he'll soon find himself
a beggar. I beg your pardon, gentlemen; fill your glasses! I'm
forgetting everything!"

The Rector filled his glass.

"I've said nothing so far," he began; "I don't feel that it's my
business. My conviction is that there's far too much divorce nowadays.
Let this woman go back to her husband, and let him show her where she's
to blame"--his voice and his eyes hardened--"then let them forgive each
other like Christians. You talk," he said to Gregory, "about standing up
for the woman. I've no patience with that; it's the way immorality's
fostered in these days. I raise my voice against this sentimentalism. I
always have, and I always shall!"

Gregory jumped to his feet.

"I've told you once before," he said, "that you were indelicate; I tell
you so again."

Mr. Barter got up, and stood bending over the table, crimson in the face,
staring at Gregory, and unable to speak.

"Either you or I," he said at last, stammering with passion, "must leave
this room!"

Gregory tried to speak; then turning abruptly, he stepped out on to the
terrace, and passed from the view of those within.

The Rector said:

"Good-night, Pendyce; I'm going, too!"

The Squire shook the hand held out to him with a face perplexed to
sadness. There was silence when Mr. Barter had left the room.

The Squire broke it with a sigh.

"I wish we were back at Oxenham's, Paramor. This serves me right for
deserting the old house. What on earth made me send George to Eton?"

Mr. Paramor buried his nose in the vase. In this saying of h