nk
you.'

Mr. Jerome grasped the proffered hand in silence, and then threw himself
back in his chair, casting a regretful look at his wife, which seemed to
say, 'Why don't you feel with me, Susan?'

The sympathy of this simple-minded old man was more precious to Mr. Tryan
than any mere onlooker could have imagined. To persons possessing a great
deal of that facile psychology which prejudges individuals by means of
formulae, and casts them, without further trouble, into duly lettered
pigeon-holes, the Evangelical curate might seem to be doing simply what
all other men like to do--carrying out objects which were identified not
only with his theory, which is but a kind of secondary egoism, but also
with the primary egoism of his feelings. Opposition may become sweet to a
man when he has christened it persecution: a self-obtrusive, over-hasty
reformer complacently disclaiming all merit, while his friends call him a
martyr, has not in reality a career the most arduous to the fleshly mind.
But Mr. Tryan was not cast in the mould of the gratuitous martyr. With a
power of persistence which had been often blamed as obstinacy, he had an
acute sensibility to the very hatred or ridicule he did not flinch from
provoking. Every form of disapproval jarred him painfully; and, though he
fronted his opponents manfully, and often with considerable warmth of
temper, he had no pugnacious pleasure in the contest. It was one of the
weaknesses of his nature to be too keenly alive to every harsh wind of
opinion; to wince under the frowns of the foolish; to be irritated by the
injustice of those who could not possibly have the elements indispensable
for judging him rightly; and with all this acute sensibility to blame,
this dependence on sympathy, he had for years been constrained into a
position of antagonism. No wonder, then, that good old Mr. Jerome's
cordial words were balm to him. He had often been thankful to an old
woman for saying 'God bless you'; to a little child for smiling at him;
to a dog for submitting to be patted by him.

Tea being over by this time, Mr. Tryan proposed a walk in the garden as a
means of dissipating all recollection of the recent conjugal dissidence
Little Lizzie's appeal, 'Me go, gandpa!' could not be rejected, so she
was duly bonneted and pinafored, and then they turned out into the
evening sunshine. Not Mrs. Jerome, however; she had a deeply-meditated
plan of retiring _ad interim_ to the kitchen and washing u