trying position
of the unpopular man who filled his pulpit and was unfavourably compared
with him every Sunday morning was full of astute analysis and wit; her
little picture of the gloomy young theological student, Latimer, his
efforts for his sister, and her innocent, pathetic death in a foreign
land had a wonderful realism of touch. She had by pure accident made the
child's acquaintance and had been strongly touched and moved. She did not
write often, but he read her letters many times over.

Upon this evening of his home-coming she thought he had sometimes the
look of a man who felt that he walked in a dream. More than once she saw
him involuntarily pass his hand with a swift movement over his eyes as if
his own touch might waken him. It was true he did not greatly enjoy the
festivities. His occasional views of Mrs. Stornaway as she rambled among
her guests, talking to them about him in audible tones, were trying. She
dispensed him with her hospitalities, as it were, and was diffuse upon
the extent of his travels and the attention paid him, to each member of
the company in turn. He knew when she was speaking of himself and when of
her daughter, and the alternate decorous sentiment and triumphant
pleasure marked on her broad face rasped him to the extent of making him
fear lest he might lose his temper.

"She is a stupid woman," he found himself saying half aloud once; "the
most stupid woman I think I ever met."

Towards the end of the evening, as he entered the room, he found himself
obliged to pass her. She stood near the door, engaged in animated
conversation with Mrs. Downing. She had hit upon a new and absorbing
topic, which had the additional charge of savouring of local gossip.

"Why," he heard her say, "I mean to ask him. He can tell us, I guess. I
haven't a doubt but he heard the whole story. You know he has a way of
drawing people out. He's so much tact and sympathy. I used to tell Agnes
he was all tact and sympathy."

Feeling quite sure that it was himself who was "all tact and sympathy,"
Baird endeavoured to move by unobserved, but she caught sight of him and
checked his progress.

"Mr. Baird," she said, "we're just talking about you."

"Don't talk about me," he said, lightly; "I am not half so culpable as I
look."

He often found small change of this order could be made useful with Mrs.
Stornaway, and he bestowed this upon her with an easy air which she felt
to be very delightful.

"He's so re