"How extraordinary!" she exclaimed. "You overwhelm me by your liberality. Are you quite sure it won't interfere with paying dividends, or salaries, or anything like that?"
"Not—not at all, Mrs. Bradley." But he looked, for the first time during the interview, a bit uncertain, as if he had a dim sense of something, somewhere, not being exactly right.
During all this time the rector had sat without opening his lips. There had been no occasion for him to speak. With ever-growing astonishment he had watched Barry paving his own path to sure disaster. With ever-growing apprehension he had watched the rising tide of indignation in the woman's breast. Could it be possible that the fellow sitting there was so dim of vision, so witless in intellect, that he could not see the gathering thunder-clouds in her face, the gleam of lightning in her half-veiled eyes; could not realize that a storm, the fury of which would be terrible beyond belief, was about to break on his unprotected head? But the rector of Christ Church knew what was coming, if Barry did not, and he knew that the moment for the cataclysm had about arrived. He moved uneasily in his chair, and his movement attracted the widow's attention. She turned her eyes on him.
"We are keeping you," she said, "without cause. You need not wait any longer. I know what the situation is, and I can handle it without help. Thank you for staying as long as you have."
She rose and held out her hand to him. He took it, but he said:
"I can stay still longer if"
She interrupted him:
"It is not at all necessary. Indeed, I would prefer that you should go now."
It was plain to the rector that she did not care to have him witness her outburst of wrath when it should come. Yet he was not quite satisfied to go and leave
