“Well,” he said, “we speak according to our experiences—that is, if we're not inclined to be hypocritical. Most women are.”
Honora was silent. He had thrown away his cigar, and she could no longer see his face. She wondered whither he was leading.
“How would you like to see your husband president of a trust company?” he said suddenly.
“Howard—president of a trust company!” she exclaimed.
“Why not?” he demanded. And added enigmatically, “Smaller men have been.”
“I wish you wouldn't joke about Howard,” she said.
“How does the idea strike you?” he persisted. “Ambition satisfied—temporarily; Quicksands a mile-stone on a back road; another toy to break; husband a big man in the community, so far as the eye can see; visiting list on Fifth Avenue, and all that sort of thing.”
“I once told you you could be brutal,” she said.
“You haven't told me what you thought of the idea.”
“I wish you'd be sensible once in a while,” she exclaimed.