an old acquaintance of Mrs.
Roger Barnes before her marriage. He knew a good deal about the Barnes
story--"feels, so I gathered, very strongly about it, and on the man's
side; and when I told him that Roger had just arrived and was coming to
take counsel with you and me this afternoon, he suddenly asked if he
might come, too. I was rather taken aback. I told him that we were
going, of course, to consider the case entirely from the English point
of view. He still said, 'Let me come; I may be of use to you.' So I
could only reply it must rest with Roger. They'll show him first into
the dining-room."

Penrose nodded. "All right, as long as he doesn't mind his national toes
trampled upon. So these are your new quarters, old fellow?"

His eyes travelled round the small book-lined room, with its shelves of
poetry, history, and theology; its parish litter; its settle by the
fire, on which lay a doll and a child's picture-book; back to the figure
of the new vicar, who stood, pipe in hand, before the hearth, clad in a
shabby serge suit, his collar alone betraying him. French's white hair
showed even whiter than of old above the delicately blanched face; from
his natural slenderness and smallness the East End and its life had by
now stripped every superfluous ounce; yet, ethereal as his aspect was,
not one element of the Meredithian trilogy--"flesh," "blood," or
"spirit"--was lacking in it.

"Yes, we've settled in," he said quietly, as Penrose took stock.

"And you like it?"

"We do."

The phrase was brief; nor did it seem to be going to lead to anything
more expansive. Penrose smiled.

"Well, now"--he bent forward, with a professional change of
tone--"before he arrives, where precisely is this unhappy business? I
gather, by the way, that Barnes has got practically all his legal advice
from the other side, though the solicitors here have been cooeperating?"

French nodded. "I am still rather vague myself. Roger only arrived from
New York the day before yesterday. His uncle, General Hobson, died a few
weeks ago, and Roger came rushing home, as I understand, to see if he
could make any ready money out of his inheritance. Money, in fact, seems
to be his chief thought."

"Money? What for? Mrs. Barnes's suit was surely settled long ago?"

"Oh, yes--months ago. She got her decree and the custody of the child in
July."

"Remind me of the details. Barnes refused to plead?"

"Certainly. By the advice of the lawyers on both