t's already doing big
things, in his line--and a good line his is, a better line than trimming
dollars and donkeys. Our Jenny--Jane that used to be--We've sold her to a
Frenchman, and she's sold herself to the devil. Hiram's daughter--God
forgive us, Matilda, for what we've done to Janet." All this, including
that last devout appeal, in the manner of a spectator of a scene at which
he is taking a last, indifferent, backward glance as he is leaving.

His wife's brain was too busy making plans and tearing them up to follow
his monotonous garrulity except in a general way. He waited in vain for
her to defend her daughter and herself.

"As for Ross," he went on, "he's keen and quick enough. He's got
together quite a fortune of his own--and he'll hold on to it and get
more. It's easy enough to make money if you've got money--and ain't
too finicky about the look and the smell of the dollars before you
gulp 'em down. Your Ross has a good strong stomach that way--as good
as his father's--and mother's. But--He ain't exactly the man I used to
picture as I was wheeling him up and down the street in his baby
carriage in Saint X."

That vulgar reminiscence seemed to be the signal for which Matilda was
waiting. "Charles Whitney," she said, "you and I have brought up our
children to take their proper place in our aristocracy of wealth and
birth and breeding. And I know you're not going to undo what we've done,
and done well."

"That's your 'bossy' tone, Mattie," he drawled, his desire to talk
getting a fresh excuse for indulging itself. "I guess this is a good
time to let you into a secret. You've thought you ran me ever since we
were engaged. That delusion of yours nearly lost you the chance to lead
these thirty years of wedded bliss with me. If you hadn't happened to
make me jealous and afraid the one man I used to envy in those days
would get you--I laughed the other day when he was appointed postmaster
at Indianapolis--However, I did marry you, and did let you imagine you
wore the pants. It seemed to amuse you, and it certainly amused
me--though not in the same way. Now I want you to look back and think
hard. You can't remember a single time that what you bossed me to do was
ever done. I was always fond of playing tricks and pulling secret wires,
and I did a lot of it in making you think you were bossing me when you
were really being bossed."

It was all Mrs. Whitney could do to keep her mind on how sick he was, and
how impe