“But my family is away better than Surrey’s.”
“Your family counts for nothing here. New York knows nothing and cares nothing about birth. Englishmen count by title only.”
“Then they ran after Surrey because he was a Duke?”
“Perhaps to a certain extent,” replied Honoria. “But I fancy the principal reason was that they wished to see what it was Helen had paid such a tall price for. If he had come here quietly to marry a poor girl there’d have been no stir.”
“Money—money—nothing but money—always money,” sneered Frothingham. He saw the twinkle in Honoria’s eyes. “But, I say,” he protested, “you know that we over there do care for other things, too.”
“So do they here, but what do they care for, first and most, in both countries?”
He smiled.
“It’s money first—there and here, and the world over,” she went on with bitterness under her raillery. “And among our kind of people everything else—sentiment, art, good taste even—is far behind it. How could it be otherwise? We’ve got to have money—lots of money—or we can’t have the things we most crave—luxury, deference, show. But—where are you dining to-night?”
“Probably at the club.”
“Excuse me a minute. I’ll just see if Mrs. Galloway will let me bring you. We’re going to the opera afterward.” She looked at him quizzically. “I think I’ll arrange to ship you off to Boston. A little vacation just now will do you no harm. And—Boston might interest you.”