t to be
found at Quicksands: it carried her back, by undiscernible channels of
thought, to the impression which, in her childhood, the Hanbury mansion
had always made. Howard, in her present whimsical fancy, even seemed
a little grotesque in such a setting. His inevitable pink shirt and
obviously prosperous clothes made discord there, and she knew in this
moment that he was appraising the house from a commercial standpoint.
His comment confirmed her guess.

"If I were starting out to blow myself, or you, Honora," he said, poking
with his stick a marmouset of the carved stone mantel, "I'd get a little
more for my money while I was about it."

Honora did not reply. She looked out of the window instead.

"See here, old man," said Trixton Brent, "I'm not a real estate dealer
or an architect, but if I were in your place I'd take that carriage and
hustle over to Jerry Shorter's as fast as I could and sign the lease."

Howard looked at him in some surprise, as one who had learned
that Trixton Brent's opinions were usually worth listening to.
Characteristically, he did not like to display his ignorance.

"I know what you mean, Brent," he replied, "and there may be something
to the argument. It gives an idea of conservativeness and prosperity."

"You've made a bull's-eye," said Trixton Brent, succinctly.

"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