"Old Marshall left her five million dollars."

"What has that to do with it?" inquired Honora.

"She isn't going to rent, especially in that part of town, for nothing."

"Wouldn't it be wiser, Howard, to wait and see the house. You know you
proposed it yourself, and it won't take very much of your time."

He returned to a perusal of the financial column, but his eye from time
to time wandered from the sheet to his wife, who was reading her letters.

"Howard," she said, "I feel dreadfully about Mrs. Holt. We haven't been
at Silverdale all summer. Here's a note from her saying she'll be in town
to-morrow for the Charities Conference, asking me to come to see her at
her hotel. I think I'll go to Silverdale a little later."

"Why don't you?" he said. "It would do you good."

"And you?" she asked.

"My only day of the week is Sunday, Honora. You know that. And I wouldn't
spend another day at Silverdale if they gave me a deed to the property,"
he declared.

On the train, when Howard had returned from the smoking car and they were
about to disembark at Long Island City, they encountered Mr. Trixton
Brent.

"Whither away?" he cried in apparent astonishment. "Up at dawn, and the