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 his old
schoolfellow was the whole of the Squire's creed:
'I believe in my father, and his father, and his father's father, the
makers and keepers of my estate; and I believe in myself and my son and
my son's son.
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