ver, a number of people in Nyack who shook their
heads at the pretensions of the Chapmans; said they were putting on too
many airs, and made no response to Mrs. Chapman's invitations. Others,
when a little scandal was necessary to keep up the interest of an
evening, would insinuate that they had "originally" been very common and
vulgar people. But now, like most New England people of that class, they
were not only trying to force their opinions down other and honester
people's throats, but had a way of meddling with business that did'nt
concern them, and making themselves disagreeable generally. When
Holbrook disappeared in disgrace, there were persons malicious enough to
say that the Chapmans had better mend their own morals before they went
to patching other people's up.

Mrs. Chapman could dress of an evening in silk, wear kid gloves that
came from France, and had plenty of real French lace on her caps. Few
persons in Nyack at that day could do such things and pass for honest
people.

"My dear," said Mrs. Chapman, addressing herself to her small, but
intellectually great, Mr. Chapman; "my dear." She paused for a moment,
as her face assumed an air of seriousness. "We must turn our backs
entirely on Dogtown. Dogtown won't do to elevate the family on. We never
can rise in the world with Dogtown on our shoulders. And if we would
live down that scandal brought on us by Holbrook, (an indiscretion, I
think you called it,) we must keep our heads up." She paused, shook her
head in pity, and raised her fat, waxy hands. "I can't sleep of nights,
thinking of it. Lays a body's feelings out terribly. But he was so
wonderfully clever." Her face brightened up as she said this.
"Wonderfully clever," she interpolated. "It was his mental greatness I
always subsided to and admired. Clever people have their weaknesses as
well as people what are not as clever. I sometimes thought you had
yours, my dear--"

"My dear!" interrupted Chapman, with an air of surprise, "what do you
mean? Hav'nt I been a finished husband, and a loving father?"

"You are just as good, my dear, as husbands can be made." Mrs. Chapman
said this condescendingly, and with an air of admiration truly grand.
"But then, you know," she said, more mildly, "there was that handsome
widow you used to be so polite to, my dear. You know I detected her
waving a handkerchief once. Then you said it was one you left at the
house; and so I never thought of it again."

"I never l