"You will oblige me by leaving my father's name out of this discussion,"
he said.

But Israel Simpson did not recoil.

"If we learn anything by example in this world, Mr. Chiltern," he
continued, "and it is my notion that we do, I am indebted to your father
for more than my start in life. Through many years of intercourse with
him, and contemplation of his character, I have gained more than riches.
--You have forced me to say this thing. I am sorry if I have pained you.
But I should not be true to the principles to which he himself was
consistent in life, and which he taught by example so many others, if I
ventured to hope that social recognition in Grenoble would be accorded
you, or to aid in any way such recognition. As long as I live I will
oppose it. There are, apparently, larger places in the world and less
humble people who will be glad to receive you. I can only hope, as an old
friend and well-wisher of your family, that you may find happiness."

Israel Simpson fumbled for his hat, picked it up, and left the room. For
a moment Chiltern stood like a man turned to stone, and then he pressed
the button on the wall behind him.