“You have saved us from becoming an old-fashioned bachelor and maid.  Our friends began to leave this neighborhood five years ago, and there is no one left.  We are surrounded by boarding-houses and shops.  We were comfortable, and we were too busy to care.  But it would never do for a young married couple to begin house-keeping here.  You must have a brand new house uptown, Selma.  You must insist on that.  Don’t be alarmed, Wilbur.  I know it will have to be small, but I noticed the other day several blocks of new houses going up on the side streets west of the Park, which looked attractive and cheap.”

“I will look at them,” said Wilbur.  “Since you seem determined not to live with us, and we are obliged to move, we will follow the procession.  But Selma and I could be happy anywhere.”  He turned from his sister to her as he spoke with a proud, happy look.

Selma said nothing to mar his confidence.  She had no intention of living either with Pauline or in their present house, and she felt that her sister-in-law had shown good sense in recognizing that neither was possible.  She necessarily had vague ideas as to New York houses and locations, but she had seen enough in her drive from the station to understand that it was a wonderful and decorative place.  Although her experience of Benham had taught her that some old things—­such as Mrs. Hallett Taylor’s gleanings from Europe—­were desirable, she associated new things with progress—­especially American progress.  Consequently the Littleton household possessions had puzzled her, for though she thought them ugly, she was resolved not to commit herself too hastily.  But now that Pauline had sounded a note of warning, the situation was clear.  They had suffered themselves to fall behind the times, and she was to be her husband’s good angel by helping him to catch up with them.  And it was evident that Pauline would be her ally.  Selma for the first time asked herself whether it might be that Wilbur was a little visionary.

Meanwhile he was saying:  “Pauline is right, Selma.  I had already asked myself if it would not be fairer to you to move uptown where we should be in the van and in touch with what is going on.  Pauline is gently hinting to you that you must not humor me as she has done, and let me eat bread and milk out of a bowl in this old curiosity shop, instead of following in the wake of fashion.  She has spoiled me and now she deserts me at the critical moment of my life.  Selma, you shall have the most charming modern house in New York within my means.  It must be love in a cottage, but the cottage shall have the latest improvements—­hot and cold water, tiles, hygienic plumbing and dados.”

“Bravo!” said Pauline.  “He says I have spoiled him, Selma.  Perhaps I have.  It will be your turn now.  You will fail to convert him as I have failed, and the world will be the better for it.  There are too few men who think noble thoughts and practice them, who are true to themselves and the light which is in them through thick and thin.  But you see, he admits himself that he needs to mix with the world a little more.  Otherwise he is perfect.  You know that perhaps, already, Selma.  But I wish to tell it to you before him.  Take care of him, dear, won’t you?”