a fishing-rod and a gun-case stood modestly in a corner.  The archway between the drawers of his writing-table held a mat for his bulldog, a prize animal, wont to lie there and guard his master’s legs when he was writing his sermons.  Like those of his dog, the Rector’s good points were the old English virtues of obstinacy, courage, intolerance, and humour; his bad points, owing to the circumstances of his life, had never been brought to his notice.

When, therefore, he found himself alone with Gregory Vigil, he approached him as one dog will approach another, and came at once to the matter in hand.

“It’s some time since I had the pleasure of meeting you, Mr. Vigil,” he said.  “Mrs. Pendyce has been giving me in confidence the news you’ve brought down.  I’m bound to tell you at once that I’m surprised.”

Gregory made a little movement of recoil, as though his delicacy had received a shock.

“Indeed!” he said, with a sort of quivering coldness.

The Rector, quick to note opposition, repeated emphatically: 

“More than surprised; in fact, I think there must be some mistake.”

“Indeed?” said Gregory again.

A change came over Mr. Barter’s face.  It had been grave, but was now heavy and threatening.

“I have to say to you,” he said, “that somehow—­somehow, this divorce must be put a stop to.”

Gregory flushed painfully.

“On what grounds?  I am not aware that my ward is a parishioner of yours, Mr. Barter, or that if she were——­”

The Rector closed in on him, his head thrust forward, his lower lip projecting.

“If she were doing her duty,” he said, “she would be.  I’m not considering her—­I’m considering her husband; he is a parishioner of mine, and I say this divorce must be stopped.”

Gregory retreated no longer.

“On what grounds?” he said again, trembling all over.

“I’ve no wish to enter into particulars,” said Mr. Barter, “but if you force me to, I shall not hesitate.”

“I regret that I must,” answered Gregory.

“Without mentioning names, then, I say that she is not a fit person to bring a suit for divorce!”

“You say that?” said Gregory.  “You——­”

He could not go on.

“You will not move me, Mr. Vigil,” said the Rector, with a grim little smile.  “I have my duty to do.”

Gregory recovered possession of himself with an effort.

“You have said that which no one but a clergyman could say with impunity,” he said freezingly.  “Be so good as to explain yourself.”

“My explanation,” said Mr. Barter, “is what I have seen with my own eyes.”

He raised those eyes to Gregory.  Their pupils were contracted to pin-points, the light-grey irises around had a sort of swimming glitter, and round these again the whites were injected with blood.

“If you must know, with my own eyes I’ve seen her in that very conservatory over there kissing a man.”