--and all the
time with a full sense of what I was doing. That's the punishment of
faults such as mine. I hate myself for every harsh word and angry look I
have given you; at the time, I hated myself!'

'Father--'

'No, no; let me speak, Marian. You have forgiven me; I know it. You were
always ready to forgive, dear. Can I ever forget that evening when I
spoke like a brute, and you came afterwards and addressed me as if the
wrong had been on your side? It burns in my memory. It wasn't I who
spoke; it was the demon of failure, of humiliation. My enemies sit
in triumph, and scorn at me; the thought of it is infuriating. Have I
deserved this? Am I the inferior of--of those men who have succeeded
and now try to trample on me? No! I am not! I have a better brain and a
better heart!'

Listening to this strange outpouring, Marian more than forgave the
hypocrisy of the last day or two. Nay, could it be called hypocrisy? It
was only his better self declared at the impulse of a passionate hope.

'Why should you think so much of these troubles, father? Is it such a
great matter that narrow-minded people triumph over you?'

'Narrow-minded?' He clutched at the word. 'You admit they are that?'

'I feel very sure that Mr Fadge is.'

'Then you are not on his side against me?'

'How could you suppose such a thing?'

'Well, well; we won't talk of that. Perhaps it isn't a great matter.
No--from a philosophical point of view, such things are unspeakably
petty. But I am not much of a philosopher.' He laughed, with a break in
his voice. 'Defeat in life is defeat, after all; and unmerited failure
is a bitter curse. You see, I am not too old to do something yet. My
sight is failing, but I can take care of it. If I had my own review, I
would write every now and then a critical paper in my very best style.
You remember poor old Hinks's note about me in his book? We laughed at
it, but he wasn't so far wrong. I have many of those qualities. A man is
conscious of his own merits as well as of his defects. I have done a few
admirable things. You remember my paper on Lord Herbert of Cherbury? No
one ever wrote a more subtle piece of criticism; but it was swept aside
among the rubbish of the magazines. And it's just because of my pungent
phrases that I have excited so much enmity. Wait! Wait! Let me have my
own review, and leisure, and satisfaction of mind--heavens! what I will
write! How I will scarify!'

'That is unworthy of you. How much