His excuse for attending these dinners, which indeed were relaxing and enjoyable, he found in the obvious duty of getting to know the most important members of his congregation.  But invariably he came away from them with an inner sense of having been baffled in this object.  With a few exceptions, these modern people seemed to have no time for friendship in the real meaning of the word, no desire to carry a relationship beyond a certain point.  Although he was their spiritual pastor, he knew less about most of them at the end of the winter than their butlers and their maids.

They were kind, they were delightful, they were interested in him—­he occasionally thought—­as a somewhat anachronistic phenomenon.  They petted, respected him, and deferred to him.  He represented to them an element in life they recognized, and which had its proper niche.  What they failed to acknowledge was his point of view—­and this he was wise enough not to press at dinner tables and in drawing-rooms—­that religion should have the penetrability of ether; that it should be the absorbent of life.  He did not have to commit the banality of reminding them of this conviction of his at their own tables; he had sufficient humour and penetration to credit them with knowing it.  Nay, he went farther in his unsuspected analysis, and perceived that these beliefs made one of his chief attractions for them.  It was pleasant to have authority in a black coat at one’s board; to defer, if not to bend to it.  The traditions of fashion demanded a clergyman in the milieu, and the more tenaciously he clung to his prerogatives, the better they liked it.

Although they were conscious of a certain pressure, which they gently resisted, they did not divine that the radiating and rugged young man cherished serious designs upon them.  He did not expect to transform the world in a day, especially the modern world.  He was biding his time, awaiting individual opportunities.

They talked to him of the parish work, congratulated him on the vigour with which he had attacked it, and often declared themselves jealous of it because it claimed too much of him.  Dear Dr. Gilman, they said, had had neither the strength nor the perception of ’modern needs; and McCrae, the first assistant clergyman, while a good man, was a plodder and lacking in imagination.  They talked sympathetically about the problems of the poor.  And some of them—­particularly Mrs. Wallis Plimpton were inclined to think Hodder’s replies a trifle noncommittal.  The trouble, although he did not tell them so, was that he himself had by no means solved the problem.  And he felt a certain reluctance to discuss the riddle of poverty over champagne and porcelain.