Popping off the cork of another bottle, he added, "I have got ahead of
you, Edith. I own a place in the country, much as I dislike that kind
of property. I had to take it to-day in a trade, and so am a
landholder in Pushton--prospect, you see, of my becoming a rural
gentleman (Squire is the title, I believe), and of exchanging stock in
Wall Street for the stock of a farm. Here's to my estate of three
acres with a story and a half mansion upon it! Perhaps you would
rather go up there this summer than to Paris, my dear?" to his wife.

Mrs. Allen gave a contemptuous shrug as if the jest were too
preposterous to be answered, but Edith cried:

"Fill my glass; I will drink to your country place. I know the cottage
is a sweet rustic little box, all smothered with vines and roses like
one I saw last June." Then she added in sport, "I wish you would give
it to me for my birthday present. It would make such a nice porter's
lodge at the entrance to my future Eden."

"Are you in earnest?" asked the father suddenly.

Both were excited by the wine they had drunk. She glanced at her
father, and saw that he was in a mood to say yes to anything, and,
quick as thought, she determined to get the place if possible.

"Of course I am. I would rather have it than all the jewelry in New
York." She was over-supplied with that style of gift.

"You shall have it then, for I am sure I don't want it, and am
devoutly thankful to be rid of it."