"You have forgotten that you were born a gentleman and bred a man of honor.

So far as I am concerned, I don't ask you to remember that I am a clergyman--I obtrude my profession on nobody--I only ask you to remember your birth and your breeding.

It is quite bad enough to cruelly and unjustly suspect an old friend who has never forgotten what he owes to you and to himself.

But it is still more unworthy of you to acknowledge those suspicions in the hearing of a woman whom your own choice has doubly bound you to respect." He stopped.

The two eyed each other for a moment in silence.
It was impossible for Mercy to look at them, as she was looking now, without drawing the inevitable comparison between the manly force and dignity of Julian and the womanish malice and irritability of Horace.
A last faithful impulse of loyalty toward the man to whom she had been betrothed impelled her to part them, before Horace had hopelessly degraded himself in her estimation by contrast with Julian.
"You had better wait to speak to me," she said to him, "until we are alone." "Certainly," Horace answered with a sneer, "if Mr.Julian Gray will permit it." Mercy turned to Julian, with a look which said plainly, "Pity us both, and leave us!" "Do you wish me to go ?" he asked.
"Add to all your other kindnesses to me," she answered.