arriage
and divorce. She knew very well that many other persons in the same camp
held different opinions; and in public or official gatherings was always
nervously--most people thought arrogantly--on the look-out for affronts.
Meanwhile, everywhere, or almost everywhere, her money gave her power,
and her knowledge of it was always sweet to her. There was nothing in
the world--no cause, no faith--that she could have accepted "as a little
child." But everywhere, in her own opinion, she stood for Justice;
justice for women as against the old primaeval tyranny of men; justice,
of course, to the workman, and justice to the rich. No foolish
Socialism, and no encroaching Trusts! A lucid common sense, so it seemed
to her, had been her cradle-gift.

And with regard to Art, how much she had been able to do! She had
generously helped the public collections, and her own small gallery, at
the house in Newport, was famous throughout England and America. That in
the course of the preceding year she had found among the signatures,
extracted from visitors by the custodian in charge, the name of Chloe
Fairmile, had given her a peculiar satisfaction.

She walked proudly across the room, her head thrown back, every nerve
tense. Let the ignorant and stupid blame her if they chose. She stood
absolved. Memory reminded her, moreover, of a great number of kind and
generous things--private things--that she had done with her money. If
men like Herbert French, or Alfred Boyson, denounced her, there were
many persons who felt warmly towards her--and had cause. As she thought
of them the tears rose in her eyes. Of course she could never make such
things public.

Outside the fog seemed to be lifting a little. There was a silvery light
in the southeast, a gleam and radiance over the gorge. If the moon
struggled through, it would be worth while slipping out after dinner to
watch its play upon the great spectacle. She was careful to cherish in
herself an openness to noble impressions and to the high poetry of
nature and life. And she must not allow herself to be led by the casual
neighbourhood of the Boysons into weak or unprofitable thought.

* * * * *

The Boysons dined at a table, gay with lights and flowers, that should
have commanded the Falls but for the curtain of fog. Niagara, however,
might flout them if it pleased; they could do without Niagara. They were
delighted that the hotel, apparently, contained no on