"'Try how the life of a good man suits thee,'" Shagarach began reading from his Marcus Aurelius; "'the life of him who is satisfied with his portion out of the whole and satisfied with his own just acts and benevolent disposition.' That is the advice I gave to my visitor and charged him nothing for it."
"It was Simon Rabofsky's voice?" asked the mother keenly.
"Yes," answered Shagarach.
"Then you did wrong. You should have charged him double. He is a rogue."
"For the emperor's wisdom?" smiled Shagarach.
"What mischief is he about?"
"He wishes to sell Mrs. Arnold's jewels. It is his legal right, since she has defaulted in the payment, but I have counseled a postponement of its exercise."
"And will he postpone it?" asked Emily, sympathetically.
"He? My dear, you do not know him," said the mother. "He is of the tribe of Aaron, who worshiped the golden calf."
Emily wondered if some of the proud Spanish blood had not become mingled with the Hebrew in her veins. Scorn of petty avarice was betrayed in every line of her noble face. Yet Emily felt sure that it was she who had called Shagarach away from the companionship of the Persian poets and impelled him to write his signet on the living world in letters of self-assertion and honorable achievement.