“I fancy Mrs. Collingwood will begin constructing after she has finished sorting.”
“A philosophy! Remember you warned me against it. Besides I have my doubts of a philosophy’s ever being satisfactory to a woman. For myself I have no hopes of ever being more than consistently inconsistent.”
“Your demands are modest.” This in rather an inscrutable voice from the Judge.
“Do you really think so? Have you not learned that really modest demands on life are like elegantly simple clothing, the most expensive to be obtained? Get my husband to tell you his demands on life, and you will hear something that really is modest.”
“Out with it, Collingwood. I have never given you credit for modest demands.”
Collingwood puffed out two rings of smoke, and removed his cigar. He was sitting at his wife’s feet as she sat on the banca, and he leaned his head back luxuriously against her knee.
“Above five millions as near as I can make it is my figure. I might do with more if I could get it, but I don’t see where I can do with less.”
“And you call that modest!” said Judge Barton ironically to Charlotte.
“I call any demand on life modest which can be expressed in dollars and cents. But Martin’s only modest demand is for the five millions. He has others not so modest.”
“Name one,” challenged Collingwood, sitting up in some surprise.