"Mr. Fenton used to say that asceticism was the most insolent insult to Heaven that human vanity ever invented." "But if we are to follow the devices and desires of our own hearts," Ashe broke out, his inner excitement bursting forth through his calmness, "if we are to give way to the joys of this life, if--Do you not see, Mrs. Fenton, that this covers so much? It goes down into the depths of a man's heart. It comes almost at once, for instance, to the question of the marriage of priests." She flushed, and her manner grew perceptibly colder. "That is naturally not a subject that I care to go into," she said; "but I have no scruple against saying that I do not believe in a celibate priesthood. In our church and our time, it is out of place." "But it is the supreme test whether a man is willing to give up all his earthly joy for the service of Heaven." She frowned slightly, and he realized how significant his manner must have been. "The marriage of the clergy is not a subject that it seems to me necessary for us to discuss," she said. "Mrs. Fenton," Philip said, "I have given you too good a right to be offended with me once, but I must say something that I fear may offend you again. It is not about myself. It is about a better man." She looked at him in evident surprise and disquiet. "I asked what you think of the marriage of the clergy," he went on, "because it seems to me right to tell you that Mr. Candish loves you." She flushed to her temples, starting impulsively in her seat. "Mr. Ashe," she said vehemently, "what right have you to talk to me of such subjects at all?" "None," he answered, "none at all,--unless--None that you would recognize; but I wish to atone for the wrong I did in speaking to you, and to say what he would never say. If it were possible that you cared for him, I should perhaps help you both." "You forget, I think, that I have been married." "I do not forget anything," Philip returned desperately. "It is only that he is a good man, a noble man, a man that would never have fallen under his weakness as I did, and if you cared for him, he is too fine to be allowed to suffer. He loved you long before I ever saw you." "He has never given me any sign of it." Her flushed cheeks and something in the way in which she said this seemed to him to indicate that she did love Candish. He had been moved by the most sincere desire to sacrifice his own will and happiness to the well-being of the woman he loved, and if it were that she loved his rival he had been ready to forget everything but that. Now by a quick revulsion it seemed to him that he could not endure the success of this man whose cause he had been pleading. "Ah!" he cried, bending toward her, "you love him!" She rose indignantly to her feet.