"I do, or I should have a larger account at my bankers; I fear I am not a canny Scotchman, for I have spent a good deal in giving my poor wife and self a glimpse of the poetry of other lands."
"That was right, and kind. Do you know I think the world would be a better place to live in if, after one had made a sufficiency, one was compelled to give place to others, and if no credit was given in any case."
"That, without doubt, would settle a good deal, and do away with communism," he said, laughingly; "for there would be no large fortunes to grab. As to no credit, I fear, until we reach Elysian fields, we shall have failures, duns, and other fruits of the credit system," he said, gravely.
"Do you intend remaining in Toronto?" she said, intent upon her embroidery.
"That depends," he said, trying to read her; "don't go away; that old gold chair, with its crimson arms, becomes you (in woman's parlance), and brings out your warm tints."
"I should think you would admire a woman like pretty Mrs. St. Clair, as you yourself are dark."
"Yes; she is a pretty little thing; a triumph of art though; but, if you will allow me to say so, I admire your style; usually there is more force of character in dark women rather than in fair."
"Yes; do you think so?"
"I do; now, for instance, there is St. Clair, miserable at the aimless existence of his wife: she is either in hysterics or in—cosmetics."
"We hear he is insanely jealous of her."