She approached. Another woman might have tried the effect of a warm greeting, for it was a question whether, even in his present state, he would have been able to resist her. But Rachel scorned to make the attempt. "What is it, Simon?" she asked quietly. For answer, still with averted eyes, he handed her the paper. It was folded in such a manner as to exhibit an article surrounded by a blue line. The article was a short amusing account of the incident of the day before, and in it the frightened monkey and all the odd paraphernalia of the inventor's workshop played an important part. Barring the headline "Jeweller's Wife hastens to protect Invention of Young Genius," there was nothing even remotely offensive in it. "Well?" she remarked, after running her eye over the article; then she returned the paper. For answer he twisted it into a ball and flung it from him. "I will ask you to remember hereafter," he said, speaking so rapidly that he stammered, "the dignity of the name you bear. I do not relish having it exploited in this way." "But what else could I do, Simon? Should I have sat there calmly and allowed that man to steal Emil's idea?" "_Emil!_" he repeated, flushing with indignation. "Is the protection of that--that device of more importance to you than the protection of my dignity? You considered St. Ives, I grant that: that was to be expected. But you did not consider me." "I considered you all---Emil, the Company, you, everyone; and what I did was absolutely right, _absolutely_! I insist upon it." "For a lady your action was an unbecoming one," he declared icily. She gazed upon him with flashing eyes from under contorted brows. "You say this; you believe it? Very well then, misconstrue what I did if you choose, torture me, doubt me!" she began fiercely. But suddenly her thoughts of the evening before returned to her. Something oppressive filled her breast and rose in her throat. "But I do not doubt you," he said, checked by the intensity of anguish her features exhibited. He even put out his hand. But seizing her head in both hands, she pushed by him and rushed upstairs. Her door was not opened until the next morning; then Rachel, all wild and staring, threw it wide. A low fever had set in. Emily Short arrived with her fund of common sense and her knitting work (she was knitting comforters for her special charges among the children)--and stationed herself at the bedside. What surprised them all was Rachel's prostration which continued long after the fever had left her. Turning her face to the wall, she seldom spoke. When her husband entered the room, she looked at him sometimes entreatingly, sometimes pityingly; one day, drawing his head down on her breast, she wept over him. Then she put him gently from her, and for a long time after, lay like one dead.