There was not, in fact, in all the reorganized house, a place where he felt _himself_ to be at all the proper thing; nowhere where he could lounge, and read his newspaper, without a feeling of impropriety; nowhere that he could indulge in any of the slight Hottentot-isms wherein unrenewed male nature delights,--without a feeling of rebuke.
John had not philosophized on the causes of this.

He knew, in a general and unconfessed way, that he was not comfortable in his new arrangements; but he supposed it was his own fault.

He had fallen into rusty, old-fashioned, bachelor ways; and, like other things that are not agreeable to the natural man, he supposed his trim, resplendent, genteel house was good for him, and that he ought to like it, and by grace should attain to liking it, if he only tried long enough.
Only he took long rests every day while he went to Grace's, on Elm Street, and stretched himself on the old sofa, and sat in his mother's old arm-chair, and told Grace how very elegant their house was, and how much taste the architect had shown, and how much Lillie was delighted with it.
But this silent walk of John's, up and down his brilliant apartments, opened his eyes to another troublesome prospect.

He was a Christian man, with a high aim and ideal in life.

He believed in the Sermon on the Mount, and other radical preaching of that nature; and he was a very honest man, and hated humbug in every shape.