"But--but I'm not ready to begin on this scale," objected Howard.

"Why," cried Brent, with evident zest--for he was a man who enjoyed sport
in all its forms, even to baiting the husbands of his friends,--"when I
first set eyes on you, old fellow, I thought you knew a thing or two, and
you've made a few turns since that confirmed the opinion. But I'm
beginning to perceive that you have limitations. I could sit down here
now, if there were any place to sit, and calculate how much living in
this house would be worth to me in Wall Street."

Honora, who had been listening uneasily, knew that a shrewder or more
disturbing argument could not have been used on her husband; and it came
from Trixton Brent--to Howard at least--ex cathedra. She was filled with
a sense of shame, which was due not solely to the fact that she was a
little conscience-stricken because of her innocent complicity, nor that
her husband did not resent an obvious attempt of a high-handed man to
browbeat him; but also to the feeling that the character of the
discussion had in some strange way degraded the house itself. Why was it
that everything she touched seemed to become contaminated?

"There's no use staying any longer," she said. "Howard doesn't like it."

"I didn't say so," he interrupted. "There's something about the place
that grows on you. If I felt I could afford it--"

"At any rate," declared Honora, trying to control her voice, "I've
decided, now I've seen it a second time, that I don't want it. I only
wished him to look at it," she added, scornfully aware that she was
taking up the cudgels in his behalf. But she could not bring herself, in