With Mr. Marston, however, he was far from being a favorite. There was
that in his lofty and simple purity which abashed and silently reproached
the sensual, bitter, disappointed man of the world. The angry pride of
the scornful man felt its own meanness in the grand presence of a simple
and humble Christian minister. And the very fact that all his habits had
led him to hold such a character in contempt, made him but the more
unreasonably resent the involuntary homage which its exhibition in Dr.
Danvers's person invariably extorted from him. He felt in this good man's
presence under a kind of irritating restraint; that he was in the
presence of one with whom he had, and could have, no sympathy whatever,
and yet one whom he could not help both admiring and respecting; and in
these conflicting feelings were involved certain gloomy and humbling
inferences about himself, which he hated, and almost feared to
contemplate.

It was well, however, for the indulgence of Sir Wynston's conversational
propensities, that Dr. Danvers had happened to drop in; for Marston was
doggedly silent and sullen, and Mrs. Marston was herself scarcely more
disposed than he to maintain her part in a conversation; so that, had it
not been for the opportune arrival of the good clergyman, the supper must
have been dispatched with a very awkward and unsocial taciturnity.

Marston thought, and, perhaps, not erroneously, that Sir Wynston
suspected something of the real state of affairs, and he was, therefore,
incensed to perceive, as he thought, in his manner, very evident
indications of his being in unusually good spirits. Thus disposed, the
party sat down to supper.

"One of our number is missing," said Sir Wynston, affecting a slight