During his walk he had reached Mrs.Slade's house, and since he worked in his pastoral calls whenever he could, by applying a sharp spur to his disinclination, it had occurred to him that he might make one, and return to his study in a virtuous frame of mind over a slight and unimportant, but bothersome duty performed.

If he had had his wits about him he might have seen the feminine heads at the windows, he might have heard the quaver of Miss Bessy Dicky's voice over the club report; but he saw and heard nothing, and now he was seated in the midst of the feminine throng, and Miss Bessy Dicky's voice quavered more, and she assumed a slightly mincing attitude.

Her thin hands trembled more, the hot, red spots on her thin cheeks deepened.
Reading the club reports before the minister was an epoch in an epochless life, but Karl von Rosen was oblivious of her except as a disturbing element rather more insistent than the others in which he was submerged.
[Illustration: He was doomed by his own lack of thought to sit through an especially long session] He sat straight and grave, his eyes retrospective.

He was constantly getting into awkward situations, and acquitting himself in them with marvellous dignity and grace.

Even Mrs.Sarah Joy Snyder, astute as she was, regarded him keenly, and could not for the life of her tell whether he had come premeditatedly or not.