od imaginable,"
answered Denham.

"I believe clergymen are usually the last people to hear the truth about
themselves," continued Gerald. "Their position at the head of a
community, pre-supposes their capability for the office, and naturally
places them outside of the criticism of those under their immediate
charge, who are nevertheless just the ones best qualified to judge them.
But of course scholars may not teach the teacher."

"What an invaluable opening for you who are _not_ one of Mr. Halloway's
flock," said De Forest, "to undertake to remedy the deficiency, and to be
in yourself a whole critical public to him, a licensed _Free Press_ as it
were, pointing out all his errors with the most unhesitating frankness
and unsparing perspicuity!"

"Do you think your love of truth would hold out long under such a crucial
test?" asked Gerald, turning quite seriously to Denham. The moonlight
shone full on her clear-cut, cameo-like face. Her eyes, with their
shadowy fringe, looked deeper and blacker than midnight. It did not seem
possible that truth spoken by her could be any thing but beautiful too.
Denham smiled down at her seriousness.

"Try me."

"Well, then, it seems to me you do not often enough try to do your best.
You are contented to do well, and not ambitious to do better. You are
quite satisfied, so I think, if your sermons are good enough to please
generally, instead of seeking to raise your standard all the time by hard
effort toward improvement, and I doubt, therefore, if at the end of a
year your sermons will show any marked change from what they are to-day.
Am I too hard?"

"You are very just," answered Denham, pleasantly, though the blood
mounted to his face. "You have found out my weak spot. I confess I am not
ambitious. I aspire to no greatness of any kind."

"You have discovered the secret of contentment," said De Forest, with
effusive approbation. "I am glad to have met you, Mr. Halloway. You are
the one happy man I know."

"The secret of contentment?" repeated Gerald. "Say rather the principle
of all stagnation, mental and spiritual. Not to aspire to become greater
than one _can_ be is to fall short of becoming all that one _may_ be; to
be satisfied with one's powers is to dwarf them hopelessly."

"A powerful argument against conceit," reflected De Forest. "Still, upon
my word, I think I would as lief be conceited in every pore as eternally
in a state of dissatisfaction with myself about every