And then, seeing that the sober look was not to be expelled from his brother’s face, Oliver seated himself and crossed his legs, and proceeded to set forth the paradoxical philosophy of extravagance.  His brother had come into a city of millionaires.  There was a certain group of people—­“the right set,” was Oliver’s term for them—­and among them he would find that money was as free as air.  So far as his career was concerned, he would find that there was nothing in all New York so costly as economy.  If he did not live like a gentleman, he would find himself excluded from the circle of the elect—­and how he would manage to exist then was a problem too difficult for his brother to face.

And so, as quickly as he could, he was to bring himself to a state of mind where things did not surprise him; where he did what others did and paid what others paid, and did it serenely, as if he had done it all his life.  He would soon find his place; meantime all he had to do was to put himself into his brother’s charge.  “You’ll find in time that I have the strings in my hands,” the latter added.  “Just take life easy, and let me introduce you to the right people.”

All of which sounded very attractive.  “But are you sure,” asked Montague, “that you understand what I’m here for?  I don’t want to get into the Four Hundred, you know—­I want to practise law.”

“In the first place,” replied Oliver, “don’t talk about the Four Hundred—­it’s vulgar and silly; there’s no such thing.  In the next place, you’re going to live in New York, and you want to know the right people.  If you know them, you can practise law, or practise billiards, or practise anything else that you fancy.  If you don’t know them, you might as well go practise in Dahomey, for all you can accomplish.  You might come on here and start in for yourself, and in twenty years you wouldn’t get as far as you can get in two weeks, if you’ll let me attend to it.”

Montague was nearly five years his brother’s senior, and at home had taken a semi-paternal attitude toward him.  Now, however, the situation seemed to have reversed itself.  With a slight smile of amusement, he subsided, and proceeded to put himself into the attitude of a docile student of the mysteries of the Metropolis.

They agreed that they would say nothing about these matters to the others.  Mrs. Montague was half blind, and would lead her placid, indoor existence with old Mammy Lucy.  As for Alice, she was a woman, and would not trouble herself with economics; if fairy godmothers chose to shower gifts upon her, she would take them.

Alice was built to live in a palace, anyway, Oliver said.  He had cried out with delight when he first saw her.  She had been sixteen when he left, and tall and thin; now she was nineteen, and with the pale tints of the dawn in her hair and face.  In the auto, Oliver had turned and, stared at her, and pronounced the cryptic judgment, “You’ll go!”