"Then she'll go back without it, Mrs Slee. Do you see that," he continued, giving her a strange look; "that's the peculiar sign that used to be in vogue amongst the ancients. That's the gnostic wink, Mrs Slee, and means too much. I won't send a spoonful. That wicked old woman drank every drop of the last herself, Mrs Slee, I'll make affidavit. She wouldn't stir across the room to wait on her poor old husband, and yet she'll come nearly a mile to fetch that wine. I'll take it myself, and give it the poor old boy, and see him drink it before I come away. Tell her I'll bring it down, Mrs Slee; but don't say I called her a wicked old woman." "Oh, I'm not going to chatter. Do you think I should be such a ghipes?" said Mrs Slee, rudely. "Not knowing what a ghipes is, I cannot say, Mrs Slee," said the vicar; "but you are not perfect, Mrs Slee--not perfect. Soup. You have that last soup on your conscience!" "Well, I'm sure I should ha' been glad on a few not long back, and it was quite good enew to gie away to people." "And I'm sure it was not, Mrs Slee: the poor people are hungry, and want food. This strike's a terrible thing." "Then they shouldn't strike," growled Mrs Slee. "I quite agree with you, Mrs Slee, so I don't give soup to the men who did strike; but the women and children did not strike, and if you knew what it was to be hungry--I beg your pardon, Mrs Slee," he added hastily, as he saw his housekeeper flush up. "There, I did not think. But this soup. We had a capital French cook at my college, and he gave me lessons. I'm a capital judge of soup, and I'll taste the fresh. Bring me in a basin, and send these people away." Mrs Slee muttered and went out, looking rather ungracious, and the vicar turned to his guest, who was fidgetting about and seemed rather uneasy. "I'm rather proud of our soup here at the vicarage--broth, the people call it," said the vicar. "I've heerd tell of it, sir," said John Maine, who wanted to go. "But I have hard work to keep the water out. I always tell Mrs Slee that the people can add as much of that as they like. But, I say, Maine, there's something wrong with you!" "Oh, no, sir; nothing at all, sir; but it's time I was going, sir, if you'll excuse me." "Well, well, good-bye, Maine. I hope," he added significantly, "your head will be better. Mind this, though, I'm not one of the confessional parsons, and insist upon no man's confidence; but bear this in mind, I look upon myself as the trusted, confidential friend of every man in the parish. I shall be over your way soon." "Thank you kindly, sir," said Maine. "I know you do," and, backing out, the next moment he was gone. "Strange young man that--strange people altogether," said the vicar. "Oh, here's the soup." For just then Mrs Slee bustled in with a napkin-covered tray, bearing a basin and spoon, the former emitting clouds of steam.