"I mean—what good am I to you—what's the use of me, if I can't make things easier for you?"
"The use of you? Did you think I ever had any idea of using you?"
"But I want you to."
"How?" she asked, still uneasily perplexed, her eyes fixed on him.
But he had no definite idea, no plan fixed, nothing further to say on a subject that had so suddenly taken shape within his mind.
She asked him again for an explanation, but, receiving none, settled back thoughtfully in her furs. Only once did he break the silence.
"You know," he said indifferently, "that row of
houses, of which yours is one, belongs to me. I mean to me, personally."
"No, I didn't know it."
"Well it does. It's my own investment.... I've reduced rents—pending improvements."