"I couldn't see anybody else courting her--without--"

"Without cutting in. I daresay not," said Meynell, with a rather forced
laugh. "I'd forgive you that. But now, look here."

The two heads drew together again, and Meynell resumed conversation,
talking rapidly, in a kind, persuasive voice, putting the common sense of
the situation--holding out distant hopes. The young man's face gradually
cleared. He was of a docile, open temper, and deeply attached to his
mentor.

At last the Rector sprang up, consulting his watch.

"I must send you off, and go to sleep. But we'll talk of this again."

"Sleep!" exclaimed Barron, astonished. "It's just seven o'clock. What are
you up to now?"

"There's a drunken fellow in the village--dying--and his wife won't look
after him. So I have to put in an appearance to-night. Be off with you!"

"I shouldn't wonder if the Flaxmans were of some use to you in the
village," said Stephen, taking up his hat. "They're rich, and, they say,
very generous."

"Well, if they'll give me a parish nurse, I'll crawl to them," said the
Rector, settling himself in his chair and putting an old shawl over his
knees. "And as you go out, just tell Anne, will you, to keep herself to
herself for an hour and not to disturb me?"