“Trying to forget you,” he replied promptly, “and incidentally attempting to obtain control of some properties.  Both efforts, I may add, were unsuccessful.”

“I’m sorry,” said Honora.

“And what mischief,” he demanded, “have you been up to?”

“You’ll never guess!” she exclaimed.

“Preparing for the exodus,” he hazarded.

“You surely don’t expect me to stay in Quicksands all winter?” she replied, a little guiltily.

“Quicksands,” he declared, “has passed into history.”

“You always insist upon putting a wrong interpretation upon what I do,” she complained.

He laughed.

“What interpretation 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.”