n which he was expecting
his son and Mr. Paramor that the Squire leaned forward over the
dining-table and asked:

"What do you say, Barter? I'm speaking to you as a man of the world."

The Rector bent over his glass of port and moistened his lower lip.

"There's no excuse for that woman," he answered. "I always thought she
was a bad lot."

Mr. Pendyce went on:

"We've never had a scandal in my family. I find the thought of it hard
to bear, Barter--I find it hard to bear----"

The Rector emitted a low sound. He had come from long usage to have a
feeling like affection for his Squire.

Mr. Pendyce pursued his thoughts.

"We've gone on," he said, "father and son for hundreds of years. It's a
blow to me, Barter."

Again the Rector emitted that low sound.

"What will the village think?" said Mr. Pendyce; "and the farmers--I
mind that more than anything. Most of them knew my dear old father--not
that he was popular. It's a bitter thing."

The Rector said:

"Well, well, Pendyce, perhaps it won't come to that."

He looked a little shamefaced, and his light eyes were full of something
like contrition.

"How does Mrs. Pendyce take it?"

The Squire looked at him for the first time.

"Ah!" he said; "you never know anything about women. I'd as soon trust a
woman to be just as I'd--I'd finish that magnum; it'd give me gout in no
time."

The Rector emptied his glass.

"I've sent for George and my solicitor," pursued the Squire; "they'll be
here directly."

Mr. Barter pushed his chair back, and raising his right ankle on to his
left leg, clasped his hands round his right knee; then, leaning forward,
he stared up under his jutting brows at Mr. Pendyce. It was the attitude
in which he thought best.

Mr. Pendyce ran on:

"I've nursed the estate ever since it came to me; I've carried on the
tradition as best I could; I've not been as good a man, perhaps, as I
should have wished, but I've always tried to remember my old father's
words: 'I'm done for, Horry; the estate's in your hands now.'" He
cleared his throat.

For a full minute there was no sound save the ticking of the clock. Then
the spaniel John, coming silently from under the sideboard, fell heavily
down against his master's leg with a lengthy snore of satisfaction. Mr.
Pendyce looked down.

"This fellow of mine," he muttered, "is getting fat."

It was evident from the tone of his voice that he desired his emotion to
be forgotten. Something very dee