When at last she dared to look up, he kissed away the tears from her cheeks.

“I love you,” he said.  “You must never doubt it—­do you understand?”

“Yes, Hugh.”

“You must never doubt it,” he repeated roughly.

His contrition was a strange thing—­if it were contrition.  And love —­woman’s love—­is sometimes the counsellor of wisdom.  Her sole reproach was to return his kiss.

Presently she chose a book, and he read to her.

CHAPTER XV

THE PILLARS OF SOCIETY

One morning, as he gathered up his mail, Chiltern left lying on the breakfast table a printed circular, an appeal from the trustees of the Grenoble Hospital.  As Honora read it she remembered that this institution had been the favourite charity of his mother; and that Mrs. Chiltern, at her death, had bequeathed an endowment which at the time had been ample.  But Grenoble having grown since then, the deficit for this year was something under two thousand dollars, and in a lower corner was a request that contributions be sent to Mrs. Israel Simpson.

With the circular in her hand, Honora went thoughtfully up the stairs to her sitting-room.  The month was February, the day overcast and muggy, and she stood for a while apparently watching the holes made in the snow by the steady drip from the cap of the garden wall.  What she really saw was the face of Mrs. Israel Simpson, a face that had haunted her these many months.  For Mrs. Simpson had gradually grown, in Honora’s mind, to typify the hardness of heart of Grenoble.  With Grenoble obdurate, what would become of the larger ambitions of Hugh Chiltern?

Mrs. Simpson was indeed a redoubtable lady, whose virtue shone with a particular high brightness on the Sabbath.  Her lamp was brimming with oil against the judgment day, and she was as one divinely appointed to be the chastener of the unrighteous.  So, at least, Honora beheld her.  Her attire was rich but not gaudy, and had the air of proclaiming the prosperity of Israel Simpson alone as its unimpeachable source:  her nose was long, her lip slightly marked by a masculine and masterful emblem, and her eyes protruded in such a manner as to give the impression of watchfulness on all sides.

It was this watchfulness that our heroine grew to regard as a salient characteristic.  It never slept—­even during Mr. Stopford’s sermons.  She was aware of it when she entered the church, and she was sure that it escorted her as far as the carriage on her departure.  It seemed to oppress the congregation.  And Honora had an idea that if it could have been withdrawn, her cruel proscription would have ended.  For at times she thought that she read in the eyes of some of those who made way for her, friendliness and even compassion.