"What does this mean?" she exclaimed. "Barry Malleson, what have you been doing?"
"Why," stammered Barry, "I—we—we've been calling on the rector."
"What for?" she demanded.
"Is it necessary," asked Mary Bradley, quietly, "that you should know?"
"I've a right to know," she replied. "I've a right to protect this man. You've bewitched him and deceived him till he doesn't know his own mind. Mr. Farrar!" she cried, "what has happened here? I must know! I will know!"
The rector, standing in the doorway of his study, had looked on amazed at this spectacle of insane jealousy. He realized, suddenly, that he must take control of the situation.
"Jane Chichester," he said, "come into my study at once." He spoke quietly, but with a voice and manner that compelled obedience to his command. And Jane Chichester went, but she went in a storm of tears, a woman's last and most effective weapon of defense.
The siege being thus raised, Mrs. Bradley and her escort left the house, descended the steps, and passed down the walk to the street. There Barry paused long enough to bare his head to the winter air, and mop the perspiration from his brow.
"Barry," said Mrs. Bradley, "you're a lucky man. I congratulate you."
"It was," panted Barry, "a devilish narrow escape."
"I don't mean that. You're not married to the woman, are you?"
"Good Lord, no!"
"Nor engaged to her?"
"Heaven forbid!"
"Well, a man who is capable of arousing such insane jealousy as that in the breast of a woman to whom he is neither married nor engaged is one among ten thousand. I beg that you'll not lose your head over it."
