"We were speaking of disinterested kindness, my dear," was Mrs. Holt's
reply.

"You're quite right, Mrs. Holt," said Trixton Brent, beginning, as the
dinner progressed, to take in the lady opposite a delight that surprised
him. "I'm willing to confess that I've led an extremely selfish
existence."

"The confession isn't necessary," she replied. "It's written all over
you. You're the type of successful man who gets what he wants. I don't
mean to say that you are incapable of kindly instincts." And her eye
twinkled a little.

"I'm very grateful for that concession, at any rate," he declared.

"There might be some hope for you if you fell into the hands of a good
woman," said Mrs. Holt. "I take it you are a bachelor. Mark my words, the
longer you remain one, the more steeped in selfishness you are likely to
become in this modern and complex and sense-satisfying life which so many
people lead."

Honora trembled for what he might say to this, remembering his bitter
references of that afternoon to his own matrimonial experience. Visions
of a scene arose before her in the event that Mrs. Holt should discover
his status. But evidently Trixton Brent had no intention of discussing
his marriage.

"Judging by some of my married friends and acquaintances," he said, "I
have no desire to try matrimony as a remedy for unselfishness."