“Howard Spence, President of the Orange Trust Company!” he recited. “I suppose no man is a hero to his wife. Does it sound so incredible?”
It did. But Honora did not say so.
“What have I to do with it?” she asked, in pardonable doubt as to his seriousness.
“Everything,” answered Brent. “Women of your type usually have. They make and mar without rhyme or reason—set business by the ears, alter the gold reserve, disturb the balance of trade, and nobody ever suspects it. Old James Wing and I have got a trust company organized, and the building up, and the man Wing wanted for president backed out.”
Honora sat up.
“Why—why did he 'back out'?” she demanded.
“He preferred to stay where he was, I suppose,” replied Brent, in another tone. “The point is that the place is empty. I'll give it to YOU.”
“To me?”
“Certainly,” said Brent, “I don't pretend to care anything about your husband. He'll do as well as the next man. His duties are pretty well—defined.”
Again she was silent. But after a moment dropped back in her chair and laughed uneasily.