"A Mr. Wing," she repeated. "You don't mean by any chance James Wing?"
"The Mr. Wing," said Peter.
"The reason I asked," explained Honora, flushing, was because Howard is —associated with him. Mr. Wing is largely interested in the Orange Trust Company."
"Yes, I know," said Peter. His elbows were resting on the arms of his chair, and he looked at the tips of his fingers, which met. Honora thought it strange that he did not congratulate her, but he appeared to be reflecting.
"What did Mr. Wing want?" she inquired in her momentary confusion, and added hastily, "I beg your pardon, Peter. I suppose I ought not to ask that."
"He was kind enough to wish me to live in New York he answered, still staring at the tips of his fingers.
"Oh, how nice!" she cried—and wondered at the same time whether, on second thoughts, she would think it so. "I suppose he wants you to be the counsel for one of his trusts. When—when do you come?"
"I'm not coming."
"Not coming! Why? Isn't it a great compliment?"
He ignored the latter part of her remark; and it seemed to her, when she recalled the conversation afterwards, that she had heard a certain note of sadness under the lightness of his reply.