ealousy at losing her old friend, I said merely that he displeased me.
Yet we both knew that the real emotion lay much deeper. Frances, loyal,
honorable creature, had kept silence; and beyond saying that house and
grounds--he altered one and laid out the other--distressed her as an
expression of his personality somehow ('distressed' was the word she
used), no further explanation had passed her lips.

Our dislike of his personality was easily accounted for--up to a point,
since both of us shared the artist's point of view that a creed, cut to
measure and carefully dried, was an ugly thing, and that a dogma to
which believers must subscribe or perish everlastingly was a barbarism
resting upon cruelty. But while my own dislike was purely due to an
abstract worship of Beauty, my sister's had another twist in it, for
with her "new" tendencies, she believed that all religions were an
aspect of truth and that no one, even the lowest wretch, could escape
"heaven" in the long run.

Samuel Franklyn, the rich banker, was a man universally respected and
admired, and the marriage, though Mabel was fifteen years his junior,
won general applause; his bride was an heiress in her own right--
breweries--and the story of her conversion at a revivalist meeting where
Samuel Franklyn had spoken fervidly of heaven, and terrifyingly of sin,
hell and damnation, even contained a touch of genuine romance. She was a
brand snatched from the burning; his detailed eloquence had frightened
her into heaven; salvation came in the nick of time; his words had
plucked her from the edge of that lake of fire and brimstone where their
worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched. She regarded him as a hero,
sighed her relief upon his saintly shoulder, and accepted the peace he
offered her with a grateful resignation.

For her husband was a "religious man" who successfully combined great
riches with the glamour of winning souls. He was a portly figure, though
tall, with masterful, big hands, his fingers rather thick and red; and
his dignity, that just escaped being pompous, held in it something that
was implacable. A convinced assurance, almost remorseless, gleamed in
his eyes when he preached especially, and his threats of hell fire must
have scared souls stronger than the timid, receptive Mabel whom he
married. He clad himself in long frock-coats hat buttoned unevenly, big
square boots, and trousers that invariably bagged at the knee and were a
little short