the last to recognize such a marriage."

Chiltern took a step forward, and his fingers tightened.

"You will oblige me by leaving my father's name out of this discussion,"
he said.

But Israel Simpson did not recoil.

"If we learn anything by example in this world, Mr. Chiltern," he
continued, "and it is my notion that we do, I am indebted to your father
for more than my start in life. Through many years of intercourse
with him, and contemplation of his character, I have gained more than
riches.--You have forced me to say this thing. I am sorry if I have
pained you. But I should not be true to the principles to which he
himself was consistent in life, and which he taught by example so many
others, if I ventured to hope that social recognition in Grenoble would
be accorded you, or to aid in any way such recognition. As long as I
live I will oppose it. There are, apparently, larger places in the world
and less humble people who will be glad to receive you. I can only
hope, as an old friend and well-wisher of your family, that you may find
happiness."

Israel Simpson fumbled for his hat, picked it up, and left the room. For
a moment Chiltern stood like a man turned to stone, and then he pressed
the button on the wall behind him.

Volume 8.

CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH A MIRROR IS HELD UP

Spring came to Highlawns, Eden tinted with myriad tender greens.
Yellow-greens, like the beech boughs over the old wall, and gentle
blue-greens, like the turf; and the waters of the lake were blue and
white in imitation of the cloud-flecked sky. It seemed to Honora, as she
sat on the garden bench, that the yellow and crimson tulips could not
open wide enough their cups to the sun.

In these days she looked at her idol, and for the first time believed
it to be within her finite powers to measure him. She began by asking
herself if it were really she who had ruined his life, and whether he
would ultimately have redeemed himself if he had married a woman whom
the world would have recognized. Thus did the first doubt invade her
heart. It was of him she was thinking still, and always. But there was
the doubt. If he could have stood this supreme test of isolation, of the
world's laughter and scorn, although it would have made her own heavy
burden of responsibility heavier, yet could she still have rejoiced.
That he should crumble was the greatest of her punishments.

Was he crumbling? In these months she could not quite be su