her husband, "with Margaret as stiff and cool as one of her own marbles, and Philip all good manners, and his eyes flashing like blue-steel cimeters. But we got through it somehow, thank Janus! Good-breeding is a bridge that can span the most fearful social chasms. Your rich vulgarian thinks he can afford to laugh at it. Bah! it 's a virtue which I have sometimes seen rise to the height of heroism."
Robert Feuardent strode down Esplanade Street flushed and angry, with a sick, choking feeling in his throat which grew and grew as he gradually left his resentment behind him. He had not failed to see Margaret's slight of Philip Rondelet, his life-long friend, and he knew that he was responsible for the misapprehension under which the young girl had acted. The sting of Mrs. Harden's hardly veiled insult was soon forgotten in the pain of a deeper wound. He took his way to the garden where he had so often walked with Margaret; and seeking a dark corner, flung himself upon the grass among the flowers. His great form trembled with passion, and at last a sob broke from his lips, a torrent of tears and sighs burst from his overburdened heart and were lost in the murmuring grass. Tears, welcome and rest-giving to women, scorch and sear the eyes of men like drops of molten metal.
