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.  And I believe that we have made the country, and shall keep the country what it is.  And I believe in the Public Schools, and especially the Public School that I was at.  And I believe in my social equals and the country house, and in things as they are, for ever and ever.  Amen.’

Mr. Pendyce went on: 

“I’m not a Puritan, Paramor; I dare say there are allowances to be made for George.  I don’t even object to the woman herself; she may be too good for Bellew; she must be too good for a fellow like that!  But for George to marry her would be ruination.  Look at Lady Rose’s case!  Anyone but a star-gazing fellow like Vigil must see that!  It’s taboo!  It’s sheer taboo!  And think—­think of my—­my grandson!  No, no, Paramor; no, no, by God!”

The Squire covered his eyes with his hand.

Mr. Paramor, who had no son himself, answered with feeling: 

“Now, now, old fellow; it won’t come to that!”

“God knows what it will come to, Paramor!  My nerve’s shaken!  You know yourself that if there’s a divorce he’ll be bound to marry her!”

To this Mr. Paramor made no reply, but pressed his lips together.

“There’s your poor dog whining,” he said.

And without waiting for permission he opened the door.  Mrs. Pendyce and the spaniel John came in.  The Squire looked up and frowned.  The spaniel John, panting with delight, rubbed against him.  ’I have been through torment, master,’ he seemed to say.  ’A second separation at present is not possible for me!’

Mrs. Pendyce stood waiting silently, and Mr. Paramor addressed himself to her.

“You can do more than any of us, Mrs. Pendyce, both with George and with this man Bellew—­and, if I am not mistaken, with his wife.”

The Squire broke in: 

“Don’t think that I’ll have any humble pie eaten to that fellow Bellew!”