sit with you. Such a fellow as Bricky Hoover, for instance, who works in our mill, and thinks he has a right to go anywhere. I tell you, Farrar, it's impossible. Utterly impossible!"
"I'm sorry you don't approve of it."
"And, in a general way, don't you know, I don't approve of your attitude toward the laboring classes. As a prominent parishioner, a leading citizen, and as vice-president of the Malleson Manufacturing Company, I must respectfully suggest that it is—a—extremely inappropriate for the rector of Christ Church to join with the lower classes in the attack on wealth and—a—culture, and all those things, you know. I speak as a friend, Farrar. As one man of high social grade to another man of high social grade. You see?"
"I understand. I'm glad to have the opinion of any of my parishioners on my sermons or conduct."
Barry felt that he was making a conquest; that the rector was swinging around to his views.
"You see," he went on, flicking an imaginary speck of dust, as he spoke, from the surface of an immaculate waistcoat, "we of the upper classes are responsible for the preservation and advancement in the world, of art, literature, beauty and, I may say, of religion; and it becomes our duty"
Here Miss Chichester interrupted him to say:
"Excuse me, Barry; I just want to ask Mr. Farrar if Mrs. Farrar is at home. If she is, I would dearly love to have a five minutes' chat with her."
"She's at home," was the reply; "up-stairs, I think. I'll ask Stella."
The maid came in response to his ring, and was sent to inquire if Mrs. Farrar would see Miss Chichester. She returned in a minute to say that Mrs. Farrar would be delighted, if Miss Chichester wouldn't mind going up-stairs to the nursery, where Mrs. Farrar was temporarily engaged. Of course Miss Chichester wouldn't mind. It would be her first glimpse of the nursery
