“There!” Mrs. Wilbur pointed with the whip down the misty avenue. “You can just see it.”
“What? That enormous white building?” Molly exclaimed. Mrs. Wilbur touched the horse with her whip nervously.
“John felt that the house should be more than merely a home to live in: it is to be a good solid investment and a sort of advertisement of success. It helps him as a young capitalist to have it known that he is building a great house. Then the architect got us in for more than we expected. You see it is built all around with stone, very solid, and gives a more colossal appearance than its size really justifies.”
Miss Parker looked at the neighbouring houses that Mrs. Wilbur had pointed to for comparison. Most of them were only faced with stone. She had noticed, also, that in one case where a house was going up, the imposing front consisted merely of a thin veneer of stone placed over masonry.
“How do you like the architecture?” the mistress asked nervously.
“It is so imposing,” faltered Molly, “and what is the house in the rear?”
“Oh, that’s the stable. We had to finish that first, so that it could be used for the materials.”
“It looks like a mansion itself.”
Mrs. Wilbur led the way into the new “marble palace,” as it was locally described. She showed her friend about, with sudden alternations of enthusiasm and listlessness, explaining in detail the suites of rooms, the manifold conveniences suggested by the architect. Suddenly she exclaimed,—
“You have had enough of this! I am tired of it too. We come out here two or three times a week and every Sunday. I will drive you out to the parks, and we can have a good talk.”