Stainton did not directly reply, and Holt, somewhat put out by the merely silent opposition, found himself a little at a loss.
"You don't want to tie up with a kid," he nevertheless endeavoured to proceed. "That's what it really amounts to. What you want is a woman, a ripe one. If you're going to live in the swim, you need somebody that can teach you the stroke. You want somebody with the entrée, somebody that can run your house in the Avenue or the Drive and isn't afraid of a man in livery."
"Put my servants in livery?" Stainton was indulgent, but he added: "To make clowns of your fellow men—really I think that's a sin against God."
"All right," said Holt; "but you're in love with an idea. Not even a girl, mind you: an idea. Well, you mark my words: it's a cinch that two people who haven't anything to do but tell each other how much they love each other are bound, soon enough, to exhaust the subject and begin to want something else to talk about."
"Now it is you who don't understand." Stainton did not know why he should argue with this city waster, unless it was because he had for so long had no chance to speak of these things to anyone. But he went on: "There ought to be love in every marriage, but marriage wasn't ordained for love only."
"Lucky for it," said Holt, "for if it were it would be a worse swindle than it is now, and that's going some. What was it ordained for? Babies?"
"Yes."
"What? There are fifty of 'em born outside of marriage right here in New York every day in the year. When Romeo makes eyes at Juliet, he isn't thinking babies."
"He only doesn't know that he is, that's all."
"Suppose you're right," said Holt; "that's all the more reason why a fellow should want to beget a baby instead of marrying one. Look here, Jim: I'm not butting in on your affairs because I like to; but I know what I'm talking about when I say you can't play this lead without spoiling the game."