“How would you like to see your husband president of a trust company?” he said suddenly.

“Howard—­president of a trust company!” she exclaimed.

“Why not?” he demanded.  And added enigmatically, “Smaller men have been.”

“I wish you wouldn’t joke about Howard,” she said.

“How does the idea strike you?” he persisted.  “Ambition satisfied —­temporarily; Quicksands a mile-stone on a back road; another toy to break; husband a big man in the community, so far as the eye can see; visiting list on Fifth Avenue, and all that sort of thing.”

“I once told you you could be brutal,” she said.

“You haven’t told me what you thought of the idea.”

“I wish you’d be sensible once in a while,” she exclaimed.

“Howard Spence, President of the Orange Trust Company!” he recited.  “I suppose no man is a hero to his wife.  Does it sound so incredible?”

It did.  But Honora did not say so.

“What have I to do with it?” she asked, in pardonable doubt as to his seriousness.

“Everything,” answered Brent.  “Women of your type usually have.  They make and mar without rhyme or reason—­set business by the ears, alter the gold reserve, disturb the balance of trade, and nobody ever suspects it.  Old James Wing and I have got a trust company organized, and the building up, and the man Wing wanted for president backed out.”

Honora sat up.

“Why—­why did he ’back out’?” she demanded.

“He preferred to stay where he was, I suppose,” replied Brent, in another tone.  “The point is that the place is empty.  I’ll give it to you.”

“To me?”

“Certainly,” said Brent, “I don’t pretend to care anything about your husband.  He’ll do as well as the next man.  His duties are pretty well —­defined.”

Again she was silent.  But after a moment dropped back in her chair and laughed uneasily.

“You’re preposterous,” she said; “I can’t think why I let you talk to me in this way.”

CHAPTER VIII

OF MENTAL PROCESSES—­FEMININE AND INSOLUBLE

Honora may be pardoned for finally ascribing to Mr. Brent’s somewhat sardonic sense of humour his remarks concerning her husband’s elevation to a conspicuous position in the world of finance.  Taken in any other sense than a joke, they were both insulting and degrading, and made her face burn when she thought of them.  After he had gone—­or rather after she had dismissed him—­she took a book upstairs to wait for Howard, but she could not read.  At times she wished she had rebuked Trixton Brent more forcibly, although he was not an easy person to rebuke; and again she reflected that, had she taken the matter too seriously, she would have laid herself open to his ridicule.  The lion was often unwittingly rough, and perhaps that was part of his fascination.