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.” Gregory threw up his hand. “How dare you!” he whispered. Again Mr. Barter's humorous under-lip shot out. “I dare a good deal more than that, Mr. Vigil,” he said, “as you will find; and I say this to you--stop this divorce, or I'll stop it myself!” Gregory turned to the window. When he came back he was outwardly calm. “You have been guilty of indelicacy,” he said. “Continue in your delusion, think what you like, do what you like. The matter will go on. Good-evening, sir.” And turning on his heel, he left the room. Mr. Barter stepped forward. The words, “You have been guilty of indelicacy,” whirled round his brain till every blood vessel in his face and neck was swollen to bursting, and with a hoarse sound like that of an animal in pain he pursued Gregory to the door. It was shut in his face. And since on taking Orders he had abandoned for ever the use of bad language, he was very near an apoplectic fit. Suddenly he became aware that Mrs. Pendyce was looking at him from the conservatory door. Her face was painfully white, her eyebrows lifted, and before that look Mr. Barter recovered a measure of self-possession. “Is anything the matter, Mr. Barter?” The Rector smiled grimly. “Nothing, nothing,” he said. “I must ask you to excuse me, that's all. I've a parish matter to attend to.”