To this condensation of Gregory’s glib sophistries on the lips of his wife, Wilbur had seemed to turn a deaf ear.  It did not occur to him, at first, that Selma was seriously in earnest.  He regarded her suggestions of neglected opportunities, which were often whimsically uttered, as more than half playful—­a sort of make-believe envy of the meteoric progress in magnificence of their friendly neighbors.  He was even glad that she should show herself appreciative of the merits of civilized comfort, for he had been afraid lest her ascetic scruples would lead her judgments too far in the opposite direction.  He welcomed them and encouraged her small schemes to make the establishment more festive and stylish in appearance, in modest imitation of the splendor next door.  But constant and more sombre reference to the growing fortunes of the Williamses presently attracted his attention and made him more observant.  His income sufficed to pay the ordinary expenses of quiet domestic life, and to leave a small margin for carefully, considered amusements, but he reflected that if Selma were yearning for greater luxury, he could not afford at present to increase materially her allowance.  It grieved him as a proud man to think that the woman he loved should lack any thing she desired, and without a thought of distrust he applied himself more strenuously to his work, hoping that the sum of his commissions would enable him presently to gratify some of her hankerings—­such, for instance, as the possession of a horse and vehicle.  Selma had several times alluded with a sigh to the satisfaction there must be in driving in the new park.  Babcock had kept a horse, and the Williamses now drove past the windows daily in a phaeton drawn by two iron gray, champing steeds.  He said to himself that he could scarcely blame Selma if she coveted now and then Flossy’s fine possessions, and the thought that she was not altogether happy in consequence of his failure to earn more kept recurring to his mind and worried him.  No children had been born to them, and he pictured with growing concern his wife lonely at home on this account, yet without extra income to make purchases which might enable her to forget at times that there was no baby in the house.  Flossy had two children, a boy and a girl, two gorgeously bedizened little beings who were trundled along the sidewalk in a black, highly varnished baby-wagon which was reputed by the dealer who sold it to Gregory to have belonged to an English nobleman.  Wilbur more than once detected Selma looking at the babies with a wistful glance.  She was really admiring their clothes, yet the thought of how prettily she would have been able to dress a baby of her own was at times so pathetic as to bring tears to her eyes, and cause her to deplore her own lack of children as a misfortune.