"I had a little money of my own—from my father and I was glad to do it,
Hugh. That was your mother's charity."
Her self-control was taxed to the utmost by the fact that he was moved.
She could not see his face, but his voice betrayed it.
"And Mrs. Simpson?" he asked, after a moment.
"Mrs. Simpson?"
"She thanked you?"
"She acknowledged the cheque, as president. I was not giving it to her, but to the hospital."
"Let me see the letter."
"I—I have destroyed it."
He brought his hands together forcibly, and swung about and faced her.
"Damn them!" he cried, "from this day I forbid you to have anything to do with them, do you hear. I forbid you! They're a set of confounded, self-righteous hypocrites. Give them time! In all conscience they have had time enough, and opportunity enough to know what our intentions are. How long do they expect us to fawn at their feet for a word of recognition? What have we done that we should be outlawed in this way by the very people who may thank my family for their prosperity? Where would Israel Simpson be to-day if my father had not set him up in business? Without knowing anything of our lives they pretend to sit in judgment on us. Why? Because you have been divorced, and I married you. I'll make them pay for this!"