Barry dragged his watch from his pocket and glanced at it.
"I've got to go," he said. "I can't wait any longer. Important business at the mill."
He rose and started toward the hall, but Miss Chichester was nearest that avenue of escape, and she intercepted him and laid a beseeching hand on his arm.
"Don't, Barry! Don't go! It won't take five minutes, once the bishop's at liberty."
Barry, in a fever of apprehension, was contemplating a sudden break for the street, when the library door opened and the bishop and his caller appeared. The visitor was the lady who, some weeks before, in a petulant mood, had declared her purpose of seeking comfort and satisfaction in another communion that recognizes the historic episcopate. But she had not gone there. She had felt, on second thought, that she could be of more service to Christianity by retaining her existing church connections and taking up arms against the rector. She was saying, as she emerged into the reception room:
"The man is impossible, Bishop; perfectly impossible! He has driven most of us from the Church already, and the rest will follow very soon unless you suppress him without delay. Oh, here's Jane Chichester. Miss Chichester will agree with me, I'm sure."
"Perfectly!" said Miss Chichester, retaining her hold on Barry's arm notwithstanding the advent of the bishop and his caller.
"And what is Mr. Malleson's opinion?" asked the bishop, advancing and shaking hands courteously with Miss Chichester and warmly with Barry, and thereby loosing the young lady's grip on the coat-sleeve of a greatly perturbed young man.
"Oh, it doesn't matter much what Barry thinks," interposed the pompous lady, rustling her gorgeous
