“Suburbs!  Rivington!  New Jersey!” The words swam before Honora’s eyes, like the great signs she had seen printed in black letters on the tall buildings from the ferry that morning.  She had a sickening sensation, and the odour of his cigarette in the cab became unbearable.  By an ironic trick of her memory, she recalled that she had told the clerks in the shops where she had made her purchases that she would send them her address later.  How different that address from what she had imagined it!

“It’s in the country!” she exclaimed.

To lunch at Delmonico’s for eight dollars and live in Rivington

Howard appeared disturbed.  More than that, he appeared astonished, solicitous.

“Why, what’s the matter, Honora?” he asked.  “I thought you’d like it.  It’s a brand new house, and I got Lily Dallam to furnish it.  She’s a wonder on that sort of thing, and I told her to go ahead—­within reason.  I talked it over with your aunt and uncle, and they agreed with me you’d much rather live out there for a few years than in a flat.”

“In a flat!” repeated Honora, with a shudder.

“Certainly,” he said, flicking his ashes out of the window.  “Who do you think I am, at my age?  Frederick T. Maitland, or the owner of the Brougham Building?”

“But—­Howard,” she protested, “why didn’t you talk it over with me?”

“Because I wanted to surprise you,” he replied.  “I spent a month and a half looking for that house.  And you never seemed to care.  It didn’t occur to me that you would care—­for the first few years,” he added, and there was in his voice a note of reproach that did not escape her.  “You never seemed inclined to discuss business with me, Honora.  I didn’t think you were interested.  Dallam and I are making money.  We expect some day to be on Easy Street—­so to speak—­or Fifth Avenue.  Some day, I hope, you can show some of these people the road.  But just now what capital we have has to go into the business.”

Strangely enough, in spite of the intensity of her disappointment, she felt nearer to her husband in that instant than at any time since their marriage.  Honora, who could not bear to hurt any one’s feelings, seized his hand repentantly.  Tears started in her eyes.

“Oh, Howard, I must seem to you very ungrateful,” she cried.  “It was such a—­such a surprise.  I have never lived in the country, and I’m sure it will be delightful—­and much more healthful than the city.  Won’t you forgive me?”

If he had known as much about the fluctuations of the feminine temperament as of those of stocks, the ease with which Honora executed this complete change of front might have disturbed him.  Howard, as will be seen, possessed that quality which is loosely called good nature.  In marriage, he had been told (and was ready to believe), the wind blew where it listed; and he was a wise husband who did not spend his time in inquiry as to its sources.  He kissed her before he helped her out of the carriage.  Again they crossed the North River, and he led her through the wooden ferry house on the New Jersey side to where the Rivington train was standing beside a platform shed.