Wilbur waited attentively. He was preparing to leave for his office: the brougham was standing outside on the clean white flags.
“I should like to turn over to you just what this place cost, one hundred and fifty thousand, wasn’t it? If there is anything left of my fortune, you can put it to my credit.”
“Buy the house?” Wilbur asked, puzzled.
“Yes,—if you have no objections.”
“I planned to give it to you clear of all mortgage in June, as a birthday present.”
“Oh! no, you mustn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
Mrs. Wilbur left her breakfast and walked nervously across the room. “I shouldn’t feel quite right about it.”
Wilbur flashed out what was in his mind.
“Your old nonsense over the traction stocks!”