out self-consciousness or arrogance or
unpleasant humility. He had a pair of pleasant, shrewd, and rather
kind eyes; and his voice, when he said a word or two in answer to Lady
Laura's volubility, was of that resonant softness that is always a
delight to hear. In fact, his whole bearing and personality was that
of a rather exceptional average man--a publisher, it might be, or a
retired lawyer--a family man with a sober round of life and ordinary
duties, who brought to their fulfillment a wholesome, kindly, but
distinctly strong character of his own. Laurie hardly knew whether he
was pleased or disappointed. He would almost have preferred a wild
creature with rolling eyes, in a cloak; yet he would have been
secretly amused and contemptuous at such a man.

"The sitting is off for Sunday, by the way, Lady Laura," said the
new-comer.

"Indeed! How is that?"

"Oh! there was some mistake about the rooms; it's the secretary's
fault; you mustn't blame me."

Lady Laura cried out her dismay and disappointment, and Mrs.
Stapleton played chorus. It was _too_ tiresome, they said, _too_
provoking, particularly just now, when "Annie" was so complacent.
(Mrs. Stapleton explained kindly to the two young gentlemen that
"Annie" was a spirit who had lately made various very interesting
revelations.) What was to be done? Were there no other rooms?

Mr. Vincent shook his head. It was too late, he said, to make
arrangements now.

While the ladies continued to buzz, and Mr. Jamieson to listen from
the extreme edge of his chair, Laurie continued to make mental
comments. He felt distinctly puzzled by the marked difference between
the prophet and his disciples. These were so shallow; this so
impressive by the most ordinary of all methods, and the most difficult
of imitation, that is, by sheer human personality. He could not grasp
the least common multiple of the two sides. Yet this man tolerated
these women, and, indeed, seemed very kind and friendly towards them.
He seemed to possess that sort of competence which rises from the fact
of having well-arranged ideas and complete certitude about them.

And at last a pause came. Mr. Vincent set down his cup for the second
time, refused buttered bun, and waited.

"Yes, do smoke, Mr. Vincent."

The man drew out his cigarette-case, smiling, offering it to the two
men. Laurie took one; the clergyman refused.

"And now, Mr. Vincent."

Again he smiled, in a half-embarrassed way.

"But no sp