Raymond laughed.
"How about business?" he said.
"Of course," Mrs. Tweksbury replied, "no one appreciates more than I do, Ken, your moral fibre. It's a big thing for you to create a business if for no other reason than to give employment to less fortunate young men; but you have other responsibilities. Your position, your fortune, they make demands. I'm not one to underestimate the leisure class; I know the old joke about tramps being the only leisure class in America; it's a silly joke, but it ought to make us think. After a bit, if we don't look out, the leisure class, here, will be all women. They'll dominate art and poetry and society—and I must say I like a good team. I never cared for too much of any one thing. Ken?"
"Yes, Aunt Emily."
"I want you to marry and have—a place."
"A place, Aunt Emily?" Raymond looked puzzled.
"Yes. Make a stand for American aristocracy—though of course you must call it by another name. You're a clean, splendid chap—I know all about you. I've watched apart and prayed over you in my closet. You see your father and I made a ghastly mess of our lives, but we kept to the code—for your sake. We left your path clear, thank God!"
"Yes, Aunt Emily—I've thanked God for that, too, in what stands for my closet."
"What stands for your closet, Ken? I've always wanted to know what takes the place of women's sanctuaries in the lives of men."
Raymond plunged his hands into his pockets—he and Mrs. Tweksbury had just finished breakfast, and the dining room of the old-fashioned house opened, as it should, to the east.