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Java Foundations: Introduction to Program Design & Data Structures, 4/e
John Lewis, Peter DePasquale, Joseph Chase
Test Bank: Chapter 6
1
Pearson © 2017
Chapter 6: Graphical User Interfaces
Multiple Choice Questions:
1) The default layout manager used by the JPanel class is the _______________________ layout.
a) flow
b) border
c) box
d) grid
e) gridBag
Answer: a
Explanation: The flow layout is the default layout manager used by JPanel objects.
2) A(n) ___________________ is an object that defines a screen element used to display information or allow the user to
interact with a program in a certain way.
a) GUI
b) component
c) event
d) listener
e) AWT
Answer: b
Explanation: A component is an object that defines a screen element used to display information or allow the user to
interact with a program in a certain way. A GUI is a graphical user interface. An event is an object that represents some
occurrence in which we may be interested. A listener is an object that waits for an event to occur and responds in some way
when it does. AWT stands for the Abstract Windowing Toolkit, which is a package that contains classes related to Java GUIs.
3) A(n) ____________________ is an object that waits for an event to occur and responds in some way when it does.
a) GUI
b) component
c) listener
d) frame
e) panel
Answer: c
Explanation: A listener is an object that waits for an event to occur and responds in some way when it does. A
component is an object that defines a screen element used to display information or allow the user to interact with a program in a
certain way. A GUI is a graphical user interface. A frame is a container that is used to display GUI-based Java applications. A
panel is also a container, but unlike a frame it cannot be displayed on its own.

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Pearson © 2017
4) A GUI is being designed that will detect and respond to a mouse event. How many methods must appear in the listener
object for the event?
a) 1
b) 2
c) 3
d) 4
e) 5
Answer: e
Explanation: A listener for a mouse event implements the MouseListener interface. The MouseListener
interface contains specifications for five methods to respond to different types of mouse events that can be detected. Each of
these methods must appear in the listener and have a body. If a method is not needed, its body can be an empty set of { }.
5) A container is governed by a(n) __________________, which determines exactly how the components added to the panel
will be displayed.
a) event
b) content pane
c) JFrame object
d) JPanel object
e) layout manager
Answer: e
Explanation: The layout manager determines exactly how the components added to the panel will be displayed. A
content pane's frame is where all visible elements of a Java interface are displayed. The JFrame and JPanel objects are part of
the AWT package. An event is an object that represents some occurrence in which we may be interested.
6) Which of the following components allows the user to enter typed input from the keyboard.
a) check boxes
b) radio buttons
c) sliders
d) combo boxes
e) none of the above
Answer: e
Explanation: None of the listed components allow typed input. A text field allows typed input from the user.
7) Which of the following components allows the user to select one of several options from a "drop down" menu?
a) check boxes
b) radio buttons
c) sliders
d) combo boxes
Answer: d
Explanation: Combo boxes allow the user to select one of several options from a "drop down" menu.

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Pearson © 2017
8) Which of the following layout managers organize the components from left to right, starting new rows as necessary?
a) Border Layout
b) Box Layout
c) Card Layout
d) Flow Layout
e) Grid Layout
Answer: d
Explanation: The flow layout organizes components from left to right, starting new rows as necessary. A border
layout organizes components into five areas: north, south, east, west, and center. The box layout organizes components into a
single row or column. The card layout organizes components into one area such that only one is visible at any time. A grid
layout organizes components into a grid of rows and columns.
9) Which of the following event descriptions best describes the mouse entered event?
a) The mouse button is pressed down
b) The mouse button is pressed down and released without moving the mouse in between
c) The mouse pointer is moved onto a component
d) The mouse button is released
e) The mouse is moved while the mouse button is pressed down
Answer: c
Explanation: The mouse entered event is triggered when the mouse pointer is moved onto a component. Choice a best
describes a mouse pressed event. Choice b best describes a mouse clicked event. Choice d best describes a mouse released event.
Choice e best describes a mouse dragged event.
10) A(n) _______________________ is a graphical window that pops up on top of any currently active window so that the
user can interact with it.
a) component
b) dialog box
c) event
d) listener
Answer: b
Explanation: The sentence describes a dialog box. Events and listeners are not windows. Components are graphical
elements that appear in windows, but they are not windows.
11) Which of the following is a fundamental idea of good GUI design?
a) Know the user
b) Prevent user errors
c) Optimize user abilities.
d) Be consistent.
e) all of the above
Answer: e
Explanation: All of the choices are fundamental ideas of good GUI design.

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Pearson © 2017
12) Which of the following best describes a timer component?
a) it starts when a GUI component is first initialized, and ends when it is destroyed
b) it generates action events at regular intervals
c) every object has a timer, and it is implicitly activated in the constructor of the object
d) it determines the amount of time it takes to execute a method
e) a timer cannot be considered a GUI component
Answer: b
Explanation: Choice b is the best description of a timer component. None of the other choices are true statements.
13) Which of the following border styles can make a component appear raised or lowered from the rest of the components?
a) line border
b) etched border
c) bevel border
d) titled border
e) matte border
Answer: c
Explanation: A bevel border can be used to add depth to a component and give it a 3-D appearance.
14) Which of the following represents a dialog box that allows the user to select a file from a disk or other storage medium?
a) color chooser
b) disk chooser
c) tool tip chooser
d) file chooser
Answer: d
Explanation: A file chooser is a dialog box that allows the user to select a file. A color chooser allows the user to select
a color. There are no dialog boxes in the AWT that represent a tool tip chooser or a disk chooser.
15) Which of the following classes play a role in altering a visual aspect of a component?
a) ColorChooser
b) ToolTip
c) BorderFactory
d) ColorCreator
Answer: c
Explanation: The BorderFactory class can be used to create borders, and when used with the setBorder()
method, the borders of components can be changed. The other options are not classes that are included with the AWT.

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Pearson © 2017
True/False Questions:
1) A panel is displayed as a separate window, but a frame can only be displayed as part of another container.
Answer: False
Explanation: A frame is displayed as a separate window, but a panel can only be displayed as part of another container.
2) Layout managers determine how components are visually presented.
Answer: True
Explanation: Every container is managed by a layout manager, which determines how components are visually
presented.
3) Check boxes operate as a group, providing a set of mutually exclusive options.
Answer: False
Explanation: Radio buttons operate as a group, providing a set of mutually exclusive options. Check boxes are
buttons that can be toggled on or off using the mouse, indicating that a particular boolean condition is set or unset.
4) A dialog box allows the user to select one of several options from a "drop down" menu.
Answer: False
Explanation: A combo box allows the user to select one of several options from a "drop down" menu. A dialog box is
a pop-up window that allows for user interaction.
5) The grid layout organizes components into a grid of rows and columns, and also allows components to span more than one
cell.
Answer: False
Explanation: Both the grid and the GridBag layouts organized components into a grid of rows and columns. Only a
GridBag layout allows components to span more than one cell.
6) The keyHit event is called when a key is pressed.
Answer: False
Explanation: The keyPressed event is called when a key is pressed.
7) A tool tip can be assigned to any Swing component.
Answer: True
Explanation: All Swing components can be assigned a tool tip, which is a short line of text that will appear when the
cursor is rested momentarily on top of the component..
8) A color chooser is a dialog box.
Answer: True
Explanation: A color chooser is a dialog box that allows the user to select a color from a palette or using RGB values.
9) When designing a GUI, the ability of the user is not an important consideration. A GUI should be designed with the lowest
common denominator in mind.
Answer: False
Explanation: It is important to design GUIs that are flexible and that support both skilled and unskilled users.
10) A mnemonic is a short line of text that will appear when the cursor is rested momentarily on top of the component.
Answer: False
Explanation: A mnemonic is a character that allows the user to push a button or make a menu choice using the
keyboard in addition to the mouse. A tool-top is a short line of text that will appear when the cursor is rested momentarily on
top of the component.

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Pearson © 2017
Short Answer Questions:
1) Explain the difference between check boxes and radio buttons.
Answer: A check box sets a boolean condition to true or false. Therefore if there are multiple items listed with check
boxes by each, any or all of them can be checked at the same time. A radio button represents a set of mutually exclusive
options. This means that at any given time, only one option can be selected.
2) Explain the difference between a combo box and a dialog box.
Answer: A combo box is a component that allows the user to select one of several options from a "drop down" menu.
A dialog box is a graphical window that pops up on top of any currently active windows so that the user can interact with it.
3) Give an example of a common use of a dialog box.
Answer: A confirm dialog box presents the user with a simple yes-or-no question. A file chooser is a dialog box that
presents the user with a file navigator that can be used to select a file. A color chooser is a dialog box that allows the user to
select an RGB color.
4) What method in what interface is used in a GUI application to detect that a user typed the letter 'Y'?
Answer: The keyPressed() method in the KeyListener interface can be used to determine which key was
typed.
5) Write a keyPressed method that behaves as follows. If the user presses the up arrow, the method should output "You
pressed up" using the System.out.println method. If the user presses the down arrow, the method should output "You
pressed down" using the System.out.println method.
Answer:
public void keyPressed(KeyEvent event) {
switch(event.getKeyCode()) {
case KeyEvent.VK_UP:
System.out.println("You pressed up.");
break;
case KeyEvent.VK_DOWN:
System.out.println("You pressed down.");
break;
}//end switch
}//end method
6) When, if ever, should a component be disabled?
Answer: A component should be disabled whenever it is inappropriate for the user to interact with it. This minimizes
error handling and special cases.

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Pearson © 2017
7) Write a segment of code that will use a dialog box to ask a user to enter their age. Their age will then be stored in an int
variable named userAge. Assume that the necessary import statements to support the dialog box are already in place.
Answer:
int userAge;
String ageStr; // used for user's response
ageStr = JOptionPane.showInputDialog("How old are you"?);
userAge = Integer.parseInt(ageStr);
8) Write a short class that represents a panel with a single radio button that has the option "Yes" and the option "No." By
default, the Yes button should be checked.
Answer:
import javax.swing.*;
import java.awt.*;
public class RadioPanel extends JPanel {
private JRadioButton yes, no;
public RadioPanel() {
yes = new JRadioButton("Yes", true);
no = new JradioButton("No");
add(yes);
add(no);
} // end constructor
} // end class RadioPanel
9) Suppose we have created a class called MyGUI, which represents a GUI. Write a program that creates a JFrame object,
adds a MyGUI object to the frame and makes it visible.
Answer:
public class MyGUIDisplayer {
public static void main(String [] args) {
JFrame frame = new Jframe("My GUI");
frame.setDefaultCloseOperation(JFrame.EXIT_ON_CLOSE);
frame.getContentPane().add(new MyGUI());
frame.pack();
frame.setVisible(true);
} // end main
} // end class MyGUIDisplayer

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10) Write a short class that represents a panel with a single slider that has values from 0 to 250, with large tick marks in
increments of 50 and small tick marks in increments of 10.
Answer:
import java.awt.*;
public class SlidePanel extends JPanel {
private JSlider slide;
public SlidePanel() {
slide = new Jslider(JSlider.HORIZONTAL, 0, 255, 0);
slide.setMajorTickSpacing(50);
slide.setMinorTickSpacing(10);
slide.setPaintTicks(true);
slide.setPaintLabels(true);
add(slide);
} // end constructor
} // end class SlidePanel
11) Describe the areas of a border layout.
Answer: Border layout is divided into five areas: North, South, East, West and Center. The North and South areas are
at the top and bottom of the container, respectively, and span the entire width of the container. Sandwiched between them,
from left to right, are the West, Center, and East areas. Any unused area takes up no space, and the others fill in as needed.
12) One of the fundamental ideas of good GUI design is to "know the user". How does "know the user" influence a GUI
design?
Answer: The software has to meet the user's needs. This means not only that it has to do what it is designed to do, but
it also must be software that the user understands how to use. It needs to have an interface that the user is comfortable with in
order to be usable and useful to the user. A person who designs a GUI without an awareness of the user's preferences or skills
is less likely to please the user than someone who takes these into consideration.
13) What is the difference between a mnemonic and a tool tip?
Answer: A mnemonic is a character that allows the user to push a button or make a menu choice using the keyboard in
addition to the mouse. A tool-top is a short line of text that will appear when the cursor is rested momentarily on top of the
component. The difference is that the mnemonic allows for more flexibility on the users end (it allows for multiple methods of
achieving the same task), which a tool-tip is simply a helpful reminder of the role of a particular component and offers no
flexibility on the users end.

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Pearson © 2017
14) Describe the difference between a heavyweight container and a lightweight container. Give an example of each.
Answer: A heavyweight container is a container that is managed by the underlying operating system on which the
program is run, whereas a lightweight container is managed by the Java program itself. A frame is an example of a heavyweight
container and a panel is a lightweight container.
15) When using a box layout, how is the orientation – horizontal or vertical box – specified?
Answer: The orientation is specified as a parameter to the BoxLayout constructor. BoxLayout.Y-AXIS
indicates a vertical box layout. BoxLayout.X-AXIS indicates a horizontal box layout.

Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents

“Is he a Frenchman, monsieur? I think he must be from the way
he bowed. Is he a friend of yours? Nobody else knows Frenchmen
here but you. Do tell me who he is.”
“He’s not a Frenchman,” said Sir Simon, “and he’ll never forgive
you for mistaking him for one, I can tell you. If you were a man, he
would run you through the body for it just as soon as he’d look at
you!”
“Mon Dieu!” cried Franceline, opening her eyes wide with wonder,
“then I don’t care to know any more about him. I hope I shall never
see him again.”
“Yes, but you shall, though, and I’ll take care to tell him,” declared
Sir Simon.
“What is it? What is it?” called out M. de la Bourbonais, looking up
from a letter that he was writing against time to catch the post.
“What are you both quarrelling about again?”
“Petit père, monsieur is so unkind and so disagreeable!”
“And Mlle. Franceline is so cruel and so inquisitive!”
“He won’t tell me who that strange gentleman is, petit père. Canst
thou tell me?”
“Oh! ho! I thought we didn’t care to know!” laughed Sir Simon
with a mischievous look.
“Tell me, petit père!” said Franceline, ignoring her tormentor’s
taunt; and going up to her father, she laid her head coaxingly
against his.
He looked at her for a moment with a strange expression, and
then said, half speaking to himself, while he stroked her hair, “What
can it matter to thee? What is one strange face more or less to thee
or me?” Then turning to Sir Simon, who was enjoying the sight of
the young girl’s innocent curiosity, and perhaps revolving possible
eventualities in his buoyant mind, the count said, “Who is it,
Harness?”

“How do I know?” retorted his friend. “A strange gentleman that
bows like a Frenchman is not a very lucid indication.”
“I met him coming out of your gate, walking with Mr. Charlton,”
explained Franceline. “He’s taller than Mr. Charlton—as tall as you,
monsieur—and he wore a moustache like a Frenchman. I never saw
any one like him in England.”
Franceline’s recollections of France were mostly rather dim, but,
like the memories of childhood, those that survived were very vivid.
“If he must be a Frenchman, I can make nothing out of it,” said Sir
Simon.
“Voyons, Harness,” laughed the count, “don’t be too unmerciful!
Curiosity in a woman once led to terrible consequences.”
“Well, I’ll tell you who he is In fact, I came here to-day on purpose
to tell you, and to ask when I could bring him to see you. He’s the
nephew of my old school-chum, De Winton, a very nice fellow, but
not the least like a Frenchman, whatever his bow and his moustache
may say to the contrary.”
“Do you mean Clide De Winton, the poor young fellow who …?”
“Precisely,” replied Sir Simon; “he’s been a rover on the face of the
earth for the last eight or nine years. This is the first time I’ve seen
him since I said good-by to him on the steamer at Marseilles, and
met you on my way back. He’s been all over the world since then, I
believe. You’ll find he has plenty to say for himself, and his French is
number one.”
“And the admiral—is he with him?” inquired Raymond.
“I’m expecting him down to-morrow. How long is it since you saw
him?”
“Hé!… let us not count the years, mon cher! We were all young
then.”
“We’re all young now,” protested the hearty baronet. “Men of our
time of life never grow old; it’s only these young ones that can

afford that sort of thing,” nodding toward Franceline, who, since she
found her Frenchman was no Frenchman, appeared to have lost all
interest in him, and was busily tidying her father’s table. “As to the
admiral, he’s younger than ever he was. By the way, I don’t intend
to let him cut me out with a certain young lady; so let me see no
flirtation in that quarter. I’ll not stand it. Do you hear me, Miss
Franceline?”
“Yes,” was the laconic rejoinder, and she went on fixing some
loose papers in a letter-press.
“Yes, Monsieur le Comte is at home; but, as monsieur knows, he
never likes to be disturbed at this hour,” replied Angélique, who was
knitting the family stockings in the wee summer-house at the end of
the garden.
“Oh! I’ll answer for it he won’t mind being disturbed this time,”
said Sir Simon. “Tell him it’s his old friend, the admiral, who wants to
see him.”
Before Angélique had got her needles under way and risen, a cry
of jubilant welcome sounded from the closed shutters of the little
room where the count was hard at work in the dark. “Mon cher De
Vinton! how it rejoices me to embrace you.” And the Frenchman was
in his friend’s arms in a minute. “My good Angélique, this is one of
our eldest friends! Where is mademoiselle? Fetch her on the instant!
Mon cher De Vinton.”
The four gentlemen—for Clide was there—went laughing and
shaking hands into the house, and groped their way as best they
could into Raymond’s study. He had the sensible foreign habit of
keeping the shutters closed to exclude the heat, and the admiral
nearly fell over a stool in scrambling for a chair.
“My dear Bourbonais, we’re none of us bats, and darkness isn’t a
help to the flow of soul,” said Sir Simon; “so, by your leave, I’ll throw
a little light on the subject.” And he pushed back the shutter.

Before their eyes had recovered the blinding shock of the light
coming suddenly on the darkness, a light foot was pattering down
the stairs, and Franceline glided into the room. The effect was very
much as if a lily had sprouted up from the carpet. An involuntary
“God bless my soul!” broke from the admiral, and Clide started to his
feet. “My daughter, messieurs,” said M. de la Bourbonais, with a
sudden touch of the courtier in his manner, as he took her by the
hand, and presented her to them both. Franceline bowed to the
young man, and held out her hand to the elder one. The admiral,
with an unwonted impulse of gallantry, raised it to his lips, and then
held it in both his own, looking steadily into her face with an open
stare of fatherly admiration. He had seen many lovely women in his
day, and, if report spoke true, the brave sailor had been a very fair
judge of the charms of the gentler sex; but he had never seen
anything the least like this. Perhaps it was the unexpected contrast
of the picture with the frame that took him so much by surprise and
heightened the effect; but, whatever it was, he was completely
taken aback, and stood looking at it speechless and bewildered.
“Do you mean to tell me that this wild rose belongs to him?” he
said at last, addressing himself to Sir Simon, and with an aggressive
nod at Raymond, as if he suspected him of having pilfered the article
in question, and were prepared to do battle for the rightful owner.
“He says so,” averred the baronet cautiously.
“He may say what he likes,” declared the admiral, “my belief is
that he purloined it out of some fairy’s garden.”
“And my belief is that you purloined that!” snubbed Sir Simon.
“You never had as much poetry in you as would inspire a fly; had he,
Clide?”
Raymond rubbed his spectacles, and put them on again—his usual
way of disposing of an awkward situation, and which just now
helped to conceal the twinkle of innocent paternal vanity that was
dancing in his gray eyes.

“No, you usedn’t to be much of a poet when I knew you, De
Vinton,” he said.
“No more he is now,” asserted the baronet. “What do you say,
Clide?”
“The most prosaic of us may become poets under a certain
pressure of inspiration,” replied the young man, with an
imperceptible movement of his head in the direction of Franceline,
who blushed under the speech just enough to justify the admiral’s
wild-rose simile. She drew her hand laughingly away from his, and
then, when everybody had found a seat, she pushed her favorite low
stool close to her father’s chair, and sat down by his knee.
The friends had a great deal to say to each other, although the
presence of Clide and Sir Simon prevented their touching on certain
episodes of the past that were brought vividly to Raymond’s mind by
the presence of one whom he had not seen since they had taken
place. This kept all painful subjects in the background; and in spite
of a wistful look in Raymond’s eyes, as if the sailor’s weather-beaten
face were calling up the ghost of by-gone days—joys that had lived
their span and died, and sorrow that was not dead, but sleeping—he
kept up the flow of conversation with great animation. Meanwhile,
the two young people were pushed rather outside the circle. Clide,
instead of entering on a tête-à-tête, as it was clearly his right and
his duty to do, kept holding on by the fringe of his uncle’s talk,
feigning to be deeply interested in it, while all the time he was
thinking of something else, longing to go and sit by Franceline, and
talk to her. It was not shyness that kept him back. That infirmity of
early youth had left him, with other outward signs of boyhood. The
features had lost their boyish expression, and matured into that of
the man of the world, who had seen life and observed things by the
road with shrewd eyes and a mind that had learned to think. Clide
had ripened prematurely within the last eight years, as men do who
are put to school to a great sorrow. He and his monitress had not
parted company, but they had grown used to each other. Sometimes
he reproached himself for this with a certain bitterness. It seemed

like treason to have forgotten; to have put his grief aside, railed it
off, as it were, from his life, like a grave to be visited at stated times,
and kept trimmed with flowers that were no longer watered with
tears. He accused himself of being too weak to hold his sorrow, of
having let it go from want of strength to keep it. Enduring grief, like
enduring love, must have a strong, rich soil to feed upon. The thing
we mourn, like the thing we love, may contain in itself all good and
beauty and endless claims upon our constancy; but we may fail in
power to answer them. The demand may be too great for the scanty
measure of our supply. It is harder to be faithful in sorrow than in
love. Clide had realized this, and he could never think of it without a
pang. Yet he was not to blame. What he had loved and mourned
was only a mirage, a will-o’-the-wisp the ideal creation of his own
trusting heart and generous imagination. He was angry with himself
because the thunderbolt that had fallen in his Garden of Eden, and
burnt up the leaves of his tree of life, had not torn it up by the roots
and killed it. Our lives have deeper roots than we know. Even when
they are torn quite up we sometimes plant them again, and they
grow afresh, striking their fibres deeper than before, and bringing
forth richer fruit. But we refuse to believe this until we have tasted
of the fruit. Clide sat apparently listening to the cheery, affectionate
talk of his uncle and Raymond; but he was all the while listening to
his own thoughts. What was there in the sight of this ivory-browed,
mystic-looking maiden to call up so vividly another face so utterly
different from it? Why did he hear the sea booming its dirge like a
reproach to him from that lonely grave at St. Valery, as if he were
wronging or wounding the dead by resting his eyes on Franceline?
Yet, in spite of the reproach, he could not keep them averted. Her
father sometimes called her Clair de lune. It was not an
inappropriate name; there was something of the cold, pure light of
the moon in her transparent pallor, and in the shadows of her eyes
under the long, black lashes that lent them such a soft fascination.
Clide thought so, as he watched her; cold as the face might be, it
was stirring his pulse and making his heart beat as he never thought
to feel them stir and beat again.

“Are ces messieurs going to stay for supper?” said Angélique,
putting her nut-brown face in at the door. “Because, if they are, I
must know in time to get ready.”
“Why, Angélique, I never knew you want more than five minutes
to prepare the best omelette soufflée I ever get anywhere out of the
Palais Royal!” said Sir Simon.
“Ah! monsieur mocks me,” said Angélique, who was so elated by
this public recognition of her omelet talent that, if Sir Simon was not
embraced by the nut-brown face on the spot, it was one of those
hair-breadth escapes that our lives are full of, and we never give
thanks for because we never know of them. “Persuade De Vinton
and our young friend here to stop and test it, then!” exclaimed M. de
la Bourbonais, holding out both hands to the admiral in his genial,
impulsive way. “The garden is our salle-à-manger in this hot
weather, so there is plenty of room.” There was something
irresistible in the simplicity and cordiality of the offer, and the admiral
was about to say he would be delighted, when Sir Simon put in his
veto: “No, no, not this evening. You must come and dine with us,
Bourbonais; I want you up at the house this evening. But the
invitation will keep. We’ll not let Angélique off her omelette soufflée;
we’ll come and attack it to-morrow, if these rovers don’t bolt, as
they threaten to do.”
And so the conference was broken up, and Raymond accompanied
his guests to the garden-gate, promising to follow them in half an
hour.
It was a rare event for M. de la Bourbonais to dine at Dullerton
Court; he disliked accepting its grand-seignior hospitality, and
whenever he consented it was understood there should be nobody
to meet him. “I have grown as unsocial as a bear from long habit,
mon cher,” he would be sure to say every time Sir Simon bore down
on him with an invitation. “I shall turn into a mollusk by-and-by. How
completely we are the creatures of habit!” To which Sir Simon would
invariably reply with his Johnsonian maxim: “You should struggle
against that sort of thing, Bourbonais, and overcome it”; and

Raymond would smile, and agree with him. He was too gentle and
too thoroughbred to taunt his friend with not following it himself,
which he might have done with bitter truth. Sir Simon was the slave
of habits and of weaknesses that it was far more necessary to
struggle against than Raymond’s harmless little foibles. There are
some men who spend one-half of their lives in cheating others, and
the other half in trying to cheat themselves. Sir Simon Harness was
one of these. Cheating is perhaps a hard word to apply to his efforts
to keep up a delusion which had grown so entirely his master that
he could scarcely see where the substance ended and where the
shadow began. Yet his whole life at present was a cheat. He had the
reputation of being the largest land-owner and the wealthiest man in
that end of the county, and he was, in reality, one of the poorest.
The grand aim of his existence was to live up to this false
appearance, and prevent the truth from coming out. It would be a
difficult and useless undertaking to examine how far he was
originally to blame for the state of active falsehood into which he
and his circumstances had fallen. There is no doubt that his father
was to blame in the first instance. He had been a very splendid old
gentleman, Sir Alexander Harness, and had lived splendidly and died
heavily in debt, leaving the estate considerably mortgaged. He had
not been more than twenty years dead at the time I speak of, so
that his son, in coming into possession, found himself saddled with
the paternal debts, and with the confirmed extravagant habits of a
lifetime. This made the sacrifices which the payment of those debts
necessitated seem a matter of simple impossibility to him. The only
thing to be done was to let the Court for a term of years, send away
the troops of misnamed servants that encumbered the place, sell off
the stud, and betake himself to the Continent and economize. Thus
he would have paid off his encumbrances, and come back
independent and easy in his mind. But, unluckily, strong measures of
this sort did not lie at all in Sir Simon’s way. He talked about going
abroad, and had some indefinite notion of “pulling in.” He did run off
to Paris and other continental places very frequently; but as he
travelled with a courier and a valet, and with all the expenses
inseparable from those adjuncts, the excursions did not contribute

much towards the desired result. Things went on at the Court in the
old way; the same staff of servants was kept up; the same number
of parasites who, under pretence of payment for some small debt,
had lived in the Court for years, until they came to consider they had
a vested life-interest in the property, were allowed to hang on. The
new master of Dullerton was loath to do such a shabby thing as to
turn them out; and they were sure to die off after a while. Then
there was the stud, which Sir Alexander had been so proud of. It had
been a terrible expense to set it up, but, being up, it was a pity to let
it down; when things were going, they had a way of keeping
themselves going. There had always been open house at the Court
from time immemorial. In the shooting season people had come
down, as a matter of course, and enjoyed the jovial hospitalities of
the old squire ever since Dullerton had belonged to him. While his
son was there he could not possibly break through these old habits;
they were as sacred as the family traditions. By-and-by, when he
saw his way to shutting up the place and going abroad, it might be
managed. Meanwhile, the old debts were accumulating, and new
ones were growing, and Sir Simon was beginning less than ever to
see his way to setting things right. If that tough old Lady Rebecca
Harness, his step-mother, would but take herself to a better world,
and leave him that fifty thousand pounds that reverted to him at her
demise, it would be a great mercy. But Lady Rebecca evidently was
in no hurry to try whether there was any pleasanter place than this
best of all possible worlds, and, in spite of her seventy years, was as
hale as a woman of forty. This was a trying state of things to the
light-tempered, open-handed baronet; but the greatest trial to him
was the fear in which he lived of being found out. He was at heart
an upright man, and it was his pride that men looked up to him as
one whose character and principles were, like Cæsar’s wife, above
suspicion. He had lived up to this reputation so far; but he was
conscious of a growing fear that with the increase of difficulties
there was stealing on him a lessening of the fine moral sense that
had hitherto supported him under many temptations. His
embarrassments were creating a sort of mental fog around him; he
was beginning to wonder whether his theories about honesty were

quite where they used to be, and whether he was not getting on the
other side of the border-line between conscience and expediency.
Outside it was still all fair; he was the most popular man in the
county, a capital landlord—in fact, everybody’s friend but his own.
The only person, except the family lawyer, who was allowed to look
at the other side of the picture, was M. de la Bourbonais. Sir Simon
was too sympathetic himself not to feel the need of sympathy. He
must occasionally complain of his hard fate to some one, so he
complained to Raymond. But Raymond, while he gave him his
sincerest sympathy, was very far from realizing the extent of the
troubles that called it forth. The baronet bemoaned himself in a
vague manner, denouncing people and things in a general sweep
every now and then; but between times he was as gay and
contented as a man could be, and Raymond knew far too little of the
ways of the world and of human nature to reconcile these conflicting
evidences, and deduce from them the facts they represented. He
could not apprehend the anomaly of a sane man, and a man of
honor, behaving like a lunatic and a swindler; spending treble his
income in vanity and superfluity, and for no better purpose than an
empty bubble of popularity and vexation of spirit. Of late, however,
he had once or twice gained a glimpse into the mystery, and it had
given him a sharp pang, which Sir Simon no sooner perceived than
he hastened to dispel by treating his lamentations as mere irritability
of temper, assuring Raymond they meant nothing. But there was still
an uneasy feeling in the latter’s mind. It was chiefly painful to him
for Sir Simon’s sake, but it made him a little uncomfortable on his
own account. With Raymond’s punctilious notions of integrity, the
man who connived at wrong-doing, or in the remotest way
participated in it, was only a degree less culpable than the actual
wrong-doer; and if Sir Simon had come to the point of being hard up
for a fifty-pound note to meet a pressing bill, it was very
unprincipled of him to be giving dinners with Johannisberg and
Tokay at twenty shillings a bottle, and very wrong of his friends to
aid and abet him in such extravagance. One day Sir Simon came in
with a clouded brow to unburden himself about a fellow who had the
insolence to write for the seventh time, demanding the payment of

his “little bill,” and, after a vehement tirade, wound up by asking
Raymond to go back and dine with him. “We’ll have up a bottle of
your favorite Château Margaux, and drink confusion to the duns and
the speedy extermination of the race,” said the baronet. “Come and
cheer a fellow up, old boy; nothing clears away the blue devils like
discussing one’s worries over a good glass of claret.” Raymond
fought off, first on the old plea that he hated going out, etc.; but,
finding this would not do, he confessed the truth. He hinted
delicately that he did not feel justified in allowing his friend to go to
any expense on his account. The innocence and infantine simplicity
of this avowal sent Sir Simon into such a hearty fit of laughter that
Raymond felt rather ashamed of himself, and began to apologize
profusely for being so stupid and having misunderstood, etc., and
declared he would go and drink the bottle of Château Margaux all to
himself. But after this Sir Simon was more reticent about his
embarrassments; and as things went on at the Court in the old,
smooth, magnificent way, M. de la Bourbonais began to think it was
all right, and that his friend’s want of money must have been a mere
temporary inconvenience. In fact, he began to doubt this evening
whether it was not all a dream of his that Sir Simon had ever talked
of being “hard up.” When he entered the noble dining-room and
looked around him, it was difficult to believe otherwise. Massive
silver and costly crystal sparkled and flashed under a shower of light
from the antique branching chandelier; wax-lights clustered on the
walls amidst solemn Rembrandt heads, and fascinating Reynoldses,
and wild Salvator Rosas, and tender Claudes, and sunny Canalettos.
It was not in nature that the owner of all this wealth and splendor
should know what it was to be in want of money. Sir Simon,
moreover, was in his element; and it would have puzzled a spectator
more versed than Raymond in the complex mechanism of the
human heart to believe that the brilliant host who was doing the
honors of his house so delightfully had a canker gnawing at his
vitals. He rattled away with the buoyant spirits of five-and-twenty;
he was brimful of anecdote, and bright with repartee. He drew every
one else out. This was what made him so irresistibly charming in
society; it was not only that he shone himself, but he had a knack of

making other people shine. He made the admiral tell stories of his
seafaring life, he drew out Clide about Afghanistan, and spirited M.
de la Bourbonais into a quarrel with him about the dates of the
Pyramids; never flagging for a moment, never prosing, but vaulting
lightly from one subject to another, and all the while leaving his
guests under the impression that they were entertaining him rather
than he them, and that he was admiring them a vast deal more than
he admired himself. A most delightful host Sir Simon was.
“Nothing cheers a man up like the sight of an old friend! Eh, De
Winton?” he exclaimed, falling back in his chair, with a thumb thrust
into each waistcoat pocket, and his feet stretched out to their full
length under the mahogany, the picture of luxury, hospitality, and
content.
“Much you know about it!” grunted the admiral, filling his glass
—“a man that never wanted to be cheered up in his life!”
Sir Simon threw back his head and laughed. It was wine to him to
be rated such a good fellow by his old college chum.
They kept it up till eleven o’clock, puffing their cigars on the
terrace, where the soft summer moon was shining beautifully on the
fawns playing under the silver spray of the fountain.
“I’ll walk home with you, Raymond,” said Sir Simon when the
chime of the stable-clock reminded the count that it was time for
him to go.
It was about ten minutes’ walk to The Lilies through the park; but
as the night was so lovely, the baronet proposed they should take
the longer way by the road, and see the river by moonlight. They
walked on for a while without speaking. Raymond was enjoying the
beauty of the scene, the gold of the fields and the green of the
meadows, all shining alike in silver, the identity of the trees and
flowers merged in uniform radiancy; he fancied his companion was
admiring it too, until the latter broke the spell by an unexpected
exclamation: “What an infernal bore money is, my dear fellow! I
mean the want of it.”

“Mon Dieu!” was the count’s astonished comment. And as Sir
Simon said nothing more, he looked up at him uneasily: “I thought
things had come all right again, mon cher?”
“They never were right; that’s the deuce of it. If I’d found them
right, I wouldn’t have been such an ass as to put them wrong. A
man needn’t be a saint or a philosopher to keep within an income of
ten thousand pounds a year; the difficulty is to live up to the name
of it when you haven’t got more than the fifth in reality. A man’s life
isn’t worth a year’s purchase with the worry these rascally fellows
give one—a set of low scoundrels that would suck your vitals with all
the pleasure in life, just because you happen to be a gentleman.
Here’s that architect fellow that ran up those stables last year,
blustering and blowing about his miserable twelve hundred pounds
as if it was the price of a cathedral! I told the fellow he’d have to
wait for his money, and of course he was all readiness and civility,
anything to secure the job; and it’s no sooner done than he’s down
on me with a hue-and-cry. He must have his money, forsooth, or
else he’ll be driven to the painful necessity of applying through his
man of business. A fellow of his kind threatening me with his man of
business! The impertinence of his having a man of business at all!
But I dare say it’s a piece of braggadocio; he thinks he’ll frighten the
money out of me by giving himself airs and talking big. I’ll see the
scoundrel further! There’s no standing the impudence of that class
nowadays. Something must be done to check it. It’s a disgrace to
the country to see the way they’re taking the upper hand and riding
rough-shod over us. And mark my words if the country doesn’t live
to regret it! We landed proprietors are the bulwark of the state; and
if they let us be sent to the wall, they had better look to their own
moorings. Mark my words, Bourbonais!”
Bourbonais was marking his words, but he was too bewildered to
make any sense out of them. “I agree with you, mon cher, the lower
orders are becoming the upper ones in many ways; but what does
that prove?”

“Prove! It proves there’s something rotten in the state of
Denmark!” retorted Sir Simon.
“But how does that affect the case in question? I mean what has
it to do with this architect’s bill?”
“It has this to do with it: that if this fellow’s father had attempted
the same impertinence with my father, he’d have been sent to the
right-about; whereas he may insult me, not only with impunity, but
with effect! That’s what it has to do with it. Public opinion has
changed sides since my father lived like a gentleman, and snapped
his fingers at these parasites that live by sucking our blood.”
Raymond knew that when Sir Simon got on the subject of the
“lower” orders and their iniquities, there was nothing for it but to
give him his head, and wait patiently till he pulled up of his own
accord. When at last the baronet drew breath, and was willing to
listen, he brought him back to the point, and asked what he meant
to do about the twelve-hundred-pound bill. Did he see his way to
paying it? Sir Simon did not. It was a curious fact that he never saw
his way to paying a bill until he had contracted it, and until his vision
had been sharpened by some disagreeable process like the present,
which forced him to face the alternative of paying or doing worse.
These new stables had been a necessary expense, it is true, and he
was very forcible in reiterating the fact to Raymond; but the latter
had a provoking way of reverting to first principles, as he called it,
and, after hearing his friend’s logical demonstration as to the
absolute necessity which had compelled him to build—the valuable
horses that were being damaged by the damp of the old stables; the
impossibility of keeping up a hunting stud without proper
accommodations for horses and men; the economy that the outlay
was sure to be in the long run, the saving of doctor’s bills, etc.; the
“vet.” was never out of the house while the horses were lodged in
the old stables—M. de la Bourbonais said: “But, mon cher, why need
you keep a hunting stud, why keep horses at all, if you can’t afford
it?”

This was a question that never crossed Sir Simon’s mind, or, if it
did, it was dismissed with such a peremptory snub that it never
presented itself again. It was peculiarly irritating to have it thrust on
him now, at a moment when he wanted some soothing advice to
cheer him up. The idea, put into words and spoken aloud by
another, was, however, not as easily ignored as when it passed
silently through his own mind; it must be answered, if only by
shutting the door in its face.
“My dear Raymond,” said the baronet in his affectionate,
patronizing way, “you don’t quite understand the matter; you look at
it too much from a Frenchman’s point of view. You don’t make
allowance for the different conditions of society in this country.
There are certain things, you see, that a man must do in England;
society exacts it of him. A gentleman must live like a gentleman, or
else he can’t hold his own. It isn’t a matter of choice.”
“It seems to me it is, though,” returned Raymond. “He may
choose between his duty to his conscience and his duty to society.”
“You can’t separate them, my dear fellow; it’s not to be done in
this country. But that’s shifting the question too wide of the mark,”
observed Sir Simon, who began to feel it was being driven rather too
close. “The thing is, how am I to raise the wind to quiet this
architect? It is too late to discuss the wisdom of building the stables;
they are built, and they must be paid for.”
“Sell those two hunters that you paid five hundred pounds apiece
for; that will go a long way towards it,” suggested the count.
The proposition was self-evident, but that did not make it the
more palatable to Sir Simon. He muttered something about not
seeing his way to a purchaser just then. Raymond, however, pressed
the matter warmly, and urged him to set about finding one without
delay. He brought forward a variety of arguments to back up this
advice, and to prove to his friend that not only common sense and
justice demanded that he should follow it, but that, from a selfish
point of view, it was the best thing he could do. “Trust me,” he cried,

“the peace of mind it will bring you will largely compensate for the
sacrifice.” Sacrifice! It sounded like a mockery on Raymond de la
Bourbonais’ lips to apply the word to the sale of a couple of animals
for the payment of a foolish debt; but Raymond, whatever Sir Simon
might say to the contrary, made large allowance for their relative
positions, and was very far from any thought of irony when he called
it a sacrifice.
“You’re right; you’re always right, Raymond,” said the baronet,
leaning his arm heavily on the count’s shoulder, and imperceptibly
guiding him closer to the river, that was flowing on like a message of
peace in the solemn, star-lit silence. “I’d be a happier man if I could
take life as you do, if I were more like you.”
“And had to black your own boots?” Raymond laughed gently.
“I shouldn’t mind a rap blacking my boots, if nobody saw me.”
“Ah! that’s just it! But when people are reduced to black their own
boots, they’re sure to be seen. The thing is to do it, and not care
who sees us.”
“That’s the rub,” said Sir Simon; and then they walked on without
speaking for a while, listening to a nightingale that woke up in a
willow-tree and broke the silence with a short, bright cadence,
ending in a trill that made the very shadows vibrate on the water.
There is a strange unworldliness in moonlight. The cold stars,
tingling silently in the deep blue peace so far above us, have a voice
that rebukes the strife of our petty passions more forcibly than the
wisest sermon. The cares and anxieties of our lives pale into the
flimsy shadows that they are, when we look at them in the glory of
illuminated midnight heavens. What sheer folly it all was, this terror
of what the world would say of him if he sold his hunters! Sir Simon
felt he could laugh at the world’s surprise, ay, or at its contempt, if it
had met him there and then by the river’s side, while the stars were
shining down upon him.
“Simon,” said M. de la Bourbonais, stopping as they came within a
few steps of The Lilies, “I am going to ask you for a proof of

friendship.” He scarcely ever called the baronet by his name, and Sir
Simon felt that, whatever the proof in question was, it was stirring
Raymond’s heart very deeply to ask it.
“I thought we had got beyond asking each other anything of that
sort; if I wanted a service from you, I should simply tell you so,”
replied the baronet.
“You are right. That is just what I feel about it. Well, what I want
to say is this: I have a hundred pounds laid by. I don’t want it at
present; there is no knowing when I may want it, so I will draw it to-
morrow and take it to you.” Raymond made his little announcement
very simply, but there was a tremor in his voice. Sir Simon hardly
knew what to say. It was impossible to accept, and impossible to
refuse.
“It’s rather a good joke, my offering to lend you money!” said
Raymond, laughing and walking on as if he noticed nothing. “But
you know the story of the lion and the mouse.”
“Raymond, you’re a richer man than I am,” said Sir Simon; “a far
happier one,” he added in his own mind.
“Then you’ll take the hundred pounds?”
“Yes; that is to say, no. I can’t say positively at this moment; we’ll
talk it over to-morrow. You’ll come up early, and we’ll talk it over.
You see, I may not want it after all. If I get the full value of Nero
and Rosebud, I shouldn’t want it.”
“But you may not find a purchaser at once, and a hundred pounds
would keep this man quiet till you do,” suggested Raymond.
“My dear old boy!” said the baronet, grasping his hand—they were
at the gate now—“I ought to be ashamed to own it; but the fact is,
Roxham—you know Lord Roxham in the next county?—offered me a
thousand pounds for Rosebud only two days ago. I’ll write to him to-
morrow and accept it. I dare say he’d be glad to take the two.”
“Oh! how you unload my heart! Good-night, mon cher ami. A
demain!” said Raymond.

On his way home Sir Simon looked stern realities in the face, and
came to the determination that a change must be made; that it was
not possible to get on as he was, keeping up a huge establishment,
and entertaining like a man of ten thousand a year, and getting
deeper and deeper into debt every day. Raymond was right.
Common sense and justice were the best advisers, and it was better
to obey their counsels voluntarily while there was yet time than wait
till it was too late, and he was driven to extremities. This architect’s
bill was a mere drop in the ocean; but it is a drop that every now
and then makes the flood run over, and compels us to do something
to stem the torrent. As Sir Simon turned it all in his mind in the
presence of the stars, he felt very brave about the necessary
measures of reform. After all, what did it signify what the world said
of him? Would the world that criticised him, perhaps voted him a
fool for selling his hunters, help him when the day of reckoning
came? What was it all but emptiness and vanity of vanities? He
realized this truth, as he sauntered home through the park, and
stood looking down over the landscape sleeping under the deep blue
dome. Where might he and his amusements and perplexities be to-
morrow—that dim to-morrow, that lies so near to each of us, poor
shadows that we are, our life a speck between two eternities? Sir
Simon let himself in by a door on the terrace, and then, instead of
going straight to his room, went into the library, and wrote a short
note to Lord Roxham. It was safer to do it now than wait till
morning. The morning was a dangerous time with Sir Simon for
resolves like the present. It was ever to him a mystery of hope, the
awakening of the world, the setting right and cheering up of all
things by the natural law of resurrection.
The admiral and Clide had planned to leave next day; but the
weather was so glorious and the host was so genial that it required
no great pressing to make them alter their plans and consent to
remain a few days longer.
“You know we are due at Bourbonais’ this evening,” said Sir
Simon. “The old lady will never forgive me if I disappoint her of
cooking that omelet for you.”

So it was agreed that they would sup at The Lilies, and M. de la
Bourbonais was requested to convey the message to Angélique
when, according to appointment, he came up early to the Court. He
had no opportunity of talking it over with Sir Simon; the admiral and
Clide were there, and other visitors dropped in and engaged his
attention. The baronet, however, contrived to set him quite at rest;
the grasp of his hand, and the smile with which he greeted his
friend, said plainer than words: “Cheer up, we’re all right again!” He
was in high spirits, welcoming everybody, and looking as cheerful as
if he did not know what a dun meant. He fully intended to whisper
to Raymond that he had written about the horses to Lord Roxham;
but he was not able to do it, owing to their being so surrounded.
“Do you ride much, Monsieur le Comte?” said Clide, coming to sit
by Raymond, who, he observed, stood rather aloof from the people
who were chatting together on common topics.
“No,” said Raymond; “I prefer walking, which is fortunate, as I
don’t possess a horse.”
“If you cared for it, that wouldn’t be an impediment, I fancy” said
the young man. “Sir Simon would be only too grateful to you for
exercising one of his. He has a capital stud. I’ve been looking at it
this morning. He’s a first-rate judge of horse-flesh.”
“That is the basis of an Englishman’s education, is it not?” said the
count playfully.
“Which accounts, perhaps, for the defects of the superstructure,”
replied Clide, laughing. “It is rather a hard hit at us, Monsieur le
Comte; but I’m afraid we deserve it. You have a good deal to put up
with from us one way or another, I dare say, to say nothing of our
climate.”
“That is a subject that I never venture to touch on,” said
Raymond, with affected solemnity. “I found out long ago that his
climate was a very sore point with an Englishman, and that he takes
any disrespect to it as a personal offence.”

“A part of our general conceit,” observed Clide good-humoredly.
“I’ve been so long out of it that I almost forget its vices, and only
remember its virtues.”
“What are they?” inquired Raymond.
“Well, I count it a virtue in a wet day to hold out the hope to you
of seeing it clear up at any moment; whereas, in countries that are
blessed with a good climate, once the day sets in wet, you know
your doom; there’s nothing to hope for till to-morrow.”
“There is something in that, I grant you,” replied Raymond
thoughtfully; “but the argument works both ways. If the day sets in
fine here, you never know what it may do before an hour. In fact, it
proves, what I have long ago made up my mind to, that there is no
climate in England—only weather. Just now it is redeeming itself; I
never saw a lovelier day in France. Shall we come out of doors and
enjoy it?”
They stepped out on to the terrace, and turned from the flowery
parterre, with its fountain flashing in the sunlight, into a shady
avenue of lime-trees.
Clide felt very little interest in Raymond’s private opinion of the
climate. He wanted to make him talk of himself, as a preliminary to
talk of his daughter; and, as usual when we want to lead up to a
subject, he could hit on nothing but the most irrelevant
commonplaces. Chance finally came to his rescue in the shape of a
stunted palm-tree that was obtruding its parched leaves through the
broken window of a neglected orangery. Sir Simon had had a hobby
about growing oranges at the Court, and had given it up, like so
many other hobbies, after a while, and the orangery, that had cost
so much money for a time, was standing forlorn and half-empty near
the flower-garden, a trophy of its owner’s fickle purpose and
extravagance.
“Poor little abortion!” exclaimed the count, pointing to the starved
palm-tree, “it did not take kindly to its exile.”

“Exile is a barren soil to most of us,” said Clide. “We generally
prove a failure in it.”
“I suppose because we are a failure when we come to it,” replied
Raymond. “We seldom try exile until life has failed to us at home.”
He looked up with a quick smile as he said this, and Clide answered
him with a glance of intelligent and respectful sympathy. As the two
men looked into each other’s face, it was as if some intangible
barrier were melting away, and confidence were suddenly being
established in its place.
Clide had never pronounced his wife’s name since the day he had
let his head drop on the admiral’s breast, and abandoned himself to
the passion of his boyish grief. It was as if the recollection of his
marriage and its miserable ending had died and been buried with
Isabel. The admiral had often wondered how one so young could be
so self-contained, wrapping himself in such an impenetrable reserve.
The old sailor was not given to speculating on mental phenomena as
a rule; but he had given this particular one many a five minutes’
cogitation, and the conclusion he arrived at was that either Clide had
taken the matter less to heart than he imagined, and so felt no need
of the solace of talking over his loss, or that the sense of humiliation
which attached to the memory of Isabel was so painful to him, as a
man and a De Winton, that he was unwilling to recur to it. There
may have been something of this latter feeling mixed up with the
other impalpable causes that kept him mute; but to-day, as he paced
up and down under the fragrant shade of the lime-trees with M. de
la Bourbonais, a sudden desire sprang up in him to speak of the
past, and evoke the sympathy of this man, who had suffered,
perhaps, more deeply than himself. They were silent for a few
minutes, but a subtle, magnetic sympathy was at work between
them.
“I too have had my little glimpse of paradise, only to be turned
out, like so many others, to finish my pilgrimage alone,” said
Raymond abruptly.

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