o had come to spend a few days with
him in the country. The friend was a harsh-featured, swarthy young
man, belonging to what may be called the muscular variety of high
Ritualism; much given to a sort of aggressive slang--he had been known
to refer to the bishop of his diocese as "the sporting old jester that
bosses our show"--and representing militant sacerdotalism in its most
blusterous and rampant form. He was also in the habit of informing
people that he was "nuts" on the Athanasian Creed, and expressing the
somewhat arbitrary opinion that if the Rev. John Wesley had had his
deserts he would have been exhibited in a pillory and used as a target
for stale eggs. There are a few such interesting youths in Holy
Orders, and the curate's friend was one of them.

The party were assembled in the garden, where Mrs Sheepshanks's best
tea-service was laid out. To say that the conversation was brilliant
would be an exaggeration; but it was pleasant and decorous, as
conversations at a vicarage ought to be. The two ladies compared notes
about the weather and the parish; the curate asked Austin what he had
been doing with himself lately; the friend kept silence, even from
good words, while the vicar, one of the mildest of his cloth, sat
blinking in furtive contemplation of the friend. Certainly it was not
a very exhilarating entertainment, and Austin felt that if it went on
much longer he should scream. What possible pleasure, he marvelled,
could Aunt Charlotte find in such a vapid form of dissipation? Even
the garden irritated him, for it was laid out in the silly Early
Victorian style, with wriggling paths, and ribbon borders, and shrubs
planted meaninglessly here and there about the lawn, and a dreadful
piece of sham rockwork in one corner. Of course the vicar's wife
thought it quite perfect, and always snubbed Austin in a very lofty
way if he ever ventured to express his own views as to how a garden
should be fitly ordered. Then his eye happened to fall upon the
curate's friend; and he caught the curate's friend in the act of
staring at him with a most offensive expression of undisguised
contempt.

Now, Austin was courteous to everyone; but to anybody he disliked his
politeness was simply deadly. Of course he took no notice of the young
parson's tacit insolence; he only longed, as fervently as he knew how
to long, for an opportunity of being polite to him. And the occasion
was soon forthcoming. The conversation growing more