“Don’t let us judge them yet, Hugh,” she begged, a little wildly, feeling again the gathering of another destroying storm in him that might now sweep the last vestige of hope away.  And she seized the arguments as they came.  “Some of them may be prejudiced, I know.  But others—­others I am sure are kind, and they have had no reason to believe I should like to know them—­to work among them.  I—­I could not go to see them first, I am glad to wait patiently until some accident brings me near them.  And remember, Hugh, the atmosphere in which we both lived before we came here—­an atmosphere they regard as frivolous and pleasure-loving.  People who are accustomed to it are not usually supposed to care to make friends in a village, or to bother their heads about the improvement of a community.  Society is not what it was in your mother’s day, who knew these people or their mothers, and took an interest in what they were doing.  Perhaps they think me—­haughty.”  She tried to smile.  “I have never had an opportunity to show them that I am not.”

She paused, breathless, and saw that he was unconvinced.

“Do you believe that, Honora?” he demanded.

“I—­I want to believe it.  And I am sure, that if it is not true now, it will become so, if we only wait.”

He shook his head.

“Never,” he said, and dropped his hands and walked over to the fire.  She stood where he had left her.

“I understand,” she heard him say, “I understand that you sent Mrs. Simpson five hundred dollars for the hospital.  Simpson told me so yesterday, at the bank.”

“I had a little money of my own—­from my father and I was glad to do it, Hugh.  That was your mother’s charity.”

Her self-control was taxed to the utmost by the fact that he was moved.  She could not see his face, but his voice betrayed it.

“And Mrs. Simpson?” he asked, after a moment.

“Mrs. Simpson?”

“She thanked you?”

“She acknowledged the cheque, as president.  I was not giving it to her, but to the hospital.”

“Let me see the letter.”

“I—­I have destroyed it.”

He brought his hands together forcibly, and swung about and faced her.

“Damn them!” he cried, “from this day I forbid you to have anything to do with them, do you hear.  I forbid you!  They’re a set of confounded, self-righteous hypocrites.  Give them time!  In all conscience they have had time enough, and opportunity enough to know what our intentions are.  How long do they expect us to fawn at their feet for a word of recognition?  What have we done that we should be outlawed in this way by the very people who may thank my family for their prosperity?  Where would Israel Simpson be to-day if my father had not set him up in business?  Without knowing anything of our lives they pretend to sit in judgment on us.  Why?  Because you have been divorced, and I married you.  I’ll make them pay for this!”