To be sure, he
gripped the pastor's hand like a vice, at the end, and thanked him for
coming, but his silent, afflicted presence had interfered with the free
interchange of thought which would have been possible had she been alone
with the clergyman. The subject of death, and the whole train of
reflections incident to it, were uppermost in her mind, and she would
have been glad to probe the mysteries of the subject by controversial
argument, instead of listening to hearty, sonorous platitudes. She
listened rather contemptuously, for she recognized that Mr. Glynn was
saying the stereotyped thing in the stereotyped way, without realizing
that it was nothing but sacerdotal pap, little adapted to an intelligent
soul. What was suited to Lewis was not fit for her. And yet her baby's
death had served to dissipate somewhat the immediate discontent which
she felt with her husband. His strong grief had touched her in spite of
herself, and, though she blamed him still for his inconsiderate
accusation, she was fond of him as she might have been fond of some
loving Newfoundland, which, splendid in awkward bulk, caressed her and
licked her hand. It was pleasant enough to be in his arms, for the touch
of man--even the wrong man--was, at times, a comfort.
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