But her grand-daughter’s tiger-cat-play drove the old lady nearer to me.  She rose and held out her hand, saying, with some kindness—­

“Take my advice, my dear Mr Walton, and don’t make too much of your poor, or they’ll soon be too much for you to manage.—­Come, Pet:  it’s time to go home to lunch.—­And for the surplice, take your own way and wear it. I shan’t say anything more about it.”

“I will do what I can see to be right in the matter,” I answered as gently as I could; for I did not want to quarrel with her, although I thought her both presumptuous and rude.

“I’m on your side, Mr Walton,” said the girl, with a sweet comical smile, as she squeezed my hand once more.

I led them to the carriage, and it was with a feeling of relief that I saw it drive off.

The old lady certainly was not pleasant.  She had a white smooth face over which the skin was drawn tight, gray hair, and rather lurid hazel eyes.  I felt a repugnance to her that was hardly to be accounted for by her arrogance to me, or by her superciliousness to the poor; although either would have accounted for much of it.  For I confess that I have not yet learned to bear presumption and rudeness with all the patience and forgiveness with which I ought by this time to be able to meet them.  And as to the poor, I am afraid I was always in some danger of being a partizan of theirs against the rich; and that a clergyman ought never to be.  And indeed the poor rich have more need of the care of the clergyman than the others, seeing it is hardly that the rich shall enter into the kingdom of heaven, and the poor have all the advantage over them in that respect.

“Still,” I said to myself, “there must be some good in the woman—­she cannot be altogether so hard as she looks, else how should that child dare to take the liberties of a kitten with her?  She doesn’t look to me like one to make game of!  However, I shall know a little more about her when I return her call, and I will do my best to keep on good terms with her.”

I took down a volume of Plato to comfort me after the irritation which my nerves had undergone, and sat down in an easy-chair beside the open window of my study.  And with Plato in my hand, and all that outside my window, I began to feel as if, after all, a man might be happy, even if a lady had refused him.  And there I sat, without opening my favourite vellum-bound volume, gazing out on the happy world, whence a gentle wind came in, as if to bid me welcome with a kiss to all it had to give me.  And then I thought of the wind that bloweth where it listeth, which is everywhere, and I quite forgot to open my Plato, and thanked God for the Life of life, whose story and whose words are in that best of books, and who explains everything to us, and makes us love Socrates and David and all good men ten times more; and who follows no law but the law of love, and no fashion but the will of God;