“We had better not go into that matter. After all, I suppose it is only a question of form, but I should like to feel that as long as I live here, my home represents my money.”
“So you put yourself off from me, and what is good enough for me isn’t for you.”
Mrs. Wilbur looked at him coldly.
“We disagreed: you don’t understand my position.”
“I’ll be hanged if I do.”
“Will you sell the house?”
Wilbur got up to leave in a pet. Then his good-nature returned,—it was all such a ridiculously small matter.
“Why, of course, Ada; it only amounts to a change of name in the stocks. I’ll bring you the deeds in a few days.”
He kissed her lightly and left the room. She opened her letters one by one, absent-mindedly, tossing the envelopes into the fire. Then she ordered her carriage, and gathering up the mass of loose notes, went to her library. She could not straighten out the difficulty merely by a transfer of names on some pieces of paper.