hat, she left him chewing the cud of his bitterness.

* * * * *

John Swinton seemed to have recovered his elasticity and strength, both
of mind and body. His sermons took on a more optimistic tone, his energy
in parish work was well-nigh doubled. The change was remarked by
everybody, and it found expression in the phrase: "He's a new man, quite
like his old self." Never was man so cheery, so encouraging, so
enthusiastic.

No longer did he pass his tradesmen in the street with eyes averted, or
make a cowardly escape down a by-lane to avoid them. He owed no money.
The sensation was so delightful, so novel, that it was like renewed
youth. The long period of stinginess and penny-wise-pound-foolish economy
at the rectory had ceased. The rector himself whistled and sang about the
house, and he came into the drawing-room in the evening on the rare
occasions when Netty and her mother were at home, rubbing his hands like
a man who is very satisfied with the world. He showered compliments upon
his beautiful wife and daughter. Never man owned a prettier pair, he
declared, and Harry Bent ought to think himself a lucky dog.

As for Mary Swinton, her pallor, which troubled him a little, seemed to
have increased her beauty. He often took her by the shoulders and,
looking into her soft eyes, declared that she was the most wonderful
wife, and the best mate any clergyman ever had. Her gowns were more
magnificent than ever, regal in their sumptuousness and elegance, and her
hair maintained its pristine brilliance--aided a little by art, but of
that, as a man, he knew nothing. Her manner, too, had altered--she was
more anxious to please than ever before--and it touched him deeply. She
tried hard to stay at home and practise self-denial and reasonable
economy; it seemed that the ideal home-life was a thing accomplished.

The rector's cup of happiness would have been quite full but for the
anxiety of the war. His son had enjoyed wonderful luck. He had been
mentioned in dispatches within a week of his arrival at the front. What
more could a father desire?

Every morning, they opened their newspapers with dread; but, as the weeks
slipped by, they grew accustomed to the strain. Netty even forgot to look
at the paper for days together. Her lover had been invalided home, and
her chief interest in the war news was removed.

For some weeks, Mrs. Swinton sincerely tried to live the life of a
clergyma