“Marry her!” he cried. “What on earth--that's worse than all--the very thing we're trying to prevent! We've been here, father and son--father and son--for generations!” “All the more shame,” burst out Gregory, “if you can't stand by a woman at the end of them----!” Mr. Paramor made a gesture of reproof. “There's moderation in all things,” he said. “Are you sure that Mrs. Bellew requires protection? If you are right, I agree; but are you right?” “I will answer for it,” said Gregory. Mr. Paramor paused a full minute with his head resting on his hand. “I am sorry,” he said at last, “I must trust to my own judgment.” The Squire looked up. “If the worst comes to the worst, can I cut the entail, Paramor?” “No.” “What? But that's all wrong--that's----” “You can't have it both ways,” said Mr. Paramor. The Squire looked at him dubiously, then blurted out: “If I choose to leave him nothing but the estate, he'll soon find himself a beggar. I beg your pardon, gentlemen; fill your glasses! I'm forgetting everything!” The Rector filled his glass. “I've said nothing so far,” he began; “I don't feel that it's my business. My conviction is that there's far too much divorce nowadays. 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: '. 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: