“Men cover a multitude of sins under the plea of business,” said Mrs. Holt, shaking her head.  I can’t say I think much of your method of distraction.  Why any one desires to get into an automobile, I don’t see.”

“Have you ever been in one?” he asked.  “Mine is here, and I was about to invite you to go down to the ferry in it.  I’ll promise to go slow.”

“Well,” said Mrs. Holt, “I don’t object to going that distance, if you keep your promise.  I’ll admit that I’ve always had a curiosity.”

“And in return,” said Brent, gallantly, “allow me to send you a cheque for your working girls.”

“You’re very good,” said Mrs. Holt.

“Oh,” he protested, I’m not in the habit of giving much to charities, I’m sorry to say.  I’d like to know how it feels.”

“Then I hope the sensation will induce you to try it again,” said Mrs. Holt.

“Nobody, Mrs. Holt,” cried Honora, “could be kinder to his friends than Mr. Brent!”

“We were speaking of disinterested kindness, my dear,” was Mrs. Holt’s reply.

“You’re quite right, Mrs. Holt,” said Trixton Brent, beginning, as the dinner progressed, to take in the lady opposite a delight that surprised him.  “I’m willing to confess that I’ve led an extremely selfish existence.”

“The confession isn’t necessary,” she replied.  “It’s written all over you.  You’re the type of successful man who gets what he wants.  I don’t mean to say that you are incapable of kindly instincts.”  And her eye twinkled a little.

“I’m very grateful for that concession, at any rate,” he declared.

“There might be some hope for you if you fell into the hands of a good woman,” said Mrs. Holt.  “I take it you are a bachelor.  Mark my words, the longer you remain one, the more steeped in selfishness you are likely to become in this modern and complex and sense-satisfying life which so many people lead.”

Honora trembled for what he might say to this, remembering his bitter references of that afternoon to his own matrimonial experience.  Visions of a scene arose before her in the event that Mrs. Holt should discover his status.  But evidently Trixton Brent had no intention of discussing his marriage.

“Judging by some of my married friends and acquaintances,” he said, “I have no desire to try matrimony as a remedy for unselfishness.”

“Then,” replied Mrs. Holt, “all I can say is, I should make new friends amongst another kind of people, if I were you.  You are quite right, and if I were seeking examples of happy marriages, I should not begin my search among the so-called fashionable set of the present day.  They are so supremely selfish that if the least difference in taste develops, or if another man or woman chances along whom they momentarily fancy more than their own husbands or wives, they get a divorce.  Their idea of marriage is not a mutual sacrifice which brings happiness through trials borne together and through the making of character.  No, they have a notion that man and wife may continue to lead their individual lives.  That isn’t marriage.  I’ve lived with Joshua Holt thirty-five years last April, and I haven’t pleased myself in all that time.”