“We will not discuss that question. It involves too many of our own kindred. Madame Jonaca, her grandmother, her uncle, Judge Bloommaert, and her Grandfather de Vries ought perhaps not to have taken the young man’s ‘conformity’ for reality. That is past. The atonement made was very real and lasting. Immediately on her return from Paris Annette bought a beautiful home, she had the finest horses and carriages in New York, and she brought from far and near the very best teachers for her daughters. But in spite of this apparent extravagance she kept a strict account of every expense, and made every dollar earn its fullest percentage. Besides which, she speculated wisely, and was fortunate in every money transaction she touched. The Van Sants owe to her prudence all the luxury they enjoy to-day. They do well to praise her. I was thinking of her bride picture, and of the sad, sombrely clothed woman I remembered, when you came into the room. And I had just come to the conclusion that her husband’s withdrawal was a fortunate thing for Annette and her daughters.” “She gave up all for her children. She was a good woman.” “I do not believe she would have given up the crossing of a ‘t’ if it had not been for her children. She had spirit enough to have fought every court in France,--when she was from under her husband’s influence,--but motherhood was Annette’s passion, and if the Van Sants and Varians knew Annette St. Ange’s true story they would give hearty thanks and praise to the self-effacing woman who chose for them wealth and honour in America rather than a foreign nobility, with perhaps the bar sinister across it.” “I am going to take a good look at Annette St. Ange’s picture to-morrow, mother. I have been rather worried lately at our Gerard’s attentions to Clara Van Sant, but if she has any share in her grandmother’s reticent, self-respecting, prudent, far-seeing nature, Gerard has my blessing. He can marry Clara to-morrow. What have you done with that square of glass, mother?” “It is in my desk.” “I would have it fitted into one of the windows in your private sitting-room.” “Thank you for the suggestion, Carlita.” “I cannot help wondering at fate, or whatever you call the power that orders our lives. Here were two women brought up in the same kind of loving, orderly homes, and surrounded by just the same influences, and the marriage of one is a living tragedy, and the marriage of the other is a song of love. How did the difference come to pass?” “There were personal reasons in both cases to account for the difference--if there was all the dissimilarity you suppose.” “Was there not?”