erpretation do you put on it?" he asked.

"A most natural and praiseworthy one," she answered. "Education,
improvement, growth--these things are as necessary for a woman as for
a man. Of course I don't expect you to believe that--your idea of women
not being a very exalted one."

He did not reply, for at that instant the bell rang, the passengers
pressed forward about them, and they were soon in the midst of the
confusion of a landing. It was not until they were seated in adjoining
chairs of the parlour-car that the conversation was renewed.

"When do you move to town?" he inquired.

However simple Mr. Brent's methods of reasoning may appear to others,
his apparent clairvoyance never failed to startle Honora.

"Somebody has told you that I've been looking at houses!" she exclaimed.

"Have you found one?"

She hesitated.

"Yes--I have found one. It belongs to some people named Farnham--they're
divorced."

"Dicky Farnham's ex-wife," he supplied. "I know where it
is--unexceptionable neighbourhood and all that sort of thing."

"And it's just finished," continued Honora, her enthusiasm gaining on
her as she spoke of the object which had possessed her mind for four
hours. "It's the most enchanting house, and so sunny for New York. If I
had built it myself it could not have suited me better. Only--"

"Only--" repeated Trixton Brent, smiling.

"Well," she said slowly, "I really oughtn't to talk about it. I--I
haven't said anything to Howard yet, and he may not like it. I ran
across it by the merest accident."

"What will you give me," he said, "if I can induce Howard to like it?"

"My eternal friendship," she laughed.

"That's not enough," said Trixton Brent.

CHAPTER IX. INTRODUCING A REVOLUTIONIZING VEHICLE

"Howard," said Honora that evening, "I've been going through houses
to-day."

"Houses!" he exclaimed, looking up from his newspaper.

"And I've been most fortunate," she continued. "I found one that Mrs.
Farnham built--she is now Mrs. Rindge. It is just finished, and so
attractive. If I'd looked until doomsday I couldn't have done any
better."

"But great Scott!" he ejaculated, "what put the notion of a town house
into your head?"

"Isn't it high time to be thinking of the winter?" she asked. "It's
nearly the end of September."

He was inarticulate for a few moments, in an evident desperate attempt
to rally his forces to meet such an unforeseen attack.

"Who said anything about going to