“Not at all,” said Honora, laughing.

Mr. Shorter was a jovial gentleman in loose-fitting clothes, and he was exceedingly glad to meet Mr. Cuthbert’s friend.

“What kind of a house do you want, Mrs. Spence?” he asked.  “Cuthbert tells me this morning that the Whitworth house has come into the market.  You couldn’t have a better location than that, on the Avenue between the Cathedral and the Park.”

“Oh,” said Honora with a gasp, “that’s much too expensive, I’m sure.  And there are only two of us.”  She hesitated, a little alarmed at the rapidity with which affairs were proceeding, and added:  “I ought to tell you that I’ve not really decided to take a house.  I wished to—­to see what there was to be had, and then I should have to consult my husband.”

She gazed very seriously into Mr. Shorter’s brown eyes, which became very wide and serious, too.  But all the time it seemed to her that other parts of him were laughing.

“Husbands,” he declared, “are kill-joys.  What have they got to do with a house—­except to sleep in it?  Now I haven’t the pleasure of knowing you as well as I hope to one of these days, Mrs. Spence—­”

“Oh, I say!” interrupted Mr. Cuthbert.

“But I venture to predict, on a slight acquaintance,” continued Mr. Shorter, undisturbed, “that you will pick out the house you want, and that your husband will move into it.”

Honora could not help laughing.  And Mr. Shorter leaned back in his revolving chair and laughed, too, in so alarming a manner as to lead her to fear he would fall over backwards.  But Mr. Cuthbert, who did not appear to perceive the humour in this conversation, extracted some keys and several pasteboard slips from a rack in the corner.  Suddenly Mr. Shorter jerked himself upright again, and became very solemn.

“Where’s my hat?” he demanded.

“What do you want with your hat?” Mr. Cuthbert inquired.

“Why, I’m going with you, of course,” Mr. Shorter replied.  “I’ve decided to take a personal interest in this matter.  You may regard my presence, Cuthbert, as justified by an artistic passion for my profession.  I should never forgive myself if Mrs. Spence didn’t get just the right house.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Cuthbert, “I’ll manage that all right.  I thought you were going to see the representative of a syndicate at eleven.”

Mr. Shorter, with a sigh, acknowledged this necessity, and escorted Honora gallantly through the office and across the sidewalk to the waiting hansom.  Cuthbert got in beside her.

“Jerry’s a joker,” he observed as they drove off, “you mustn’t mind him.”

“I think he’s delightful,” said Honora.

“One wouldn’t believe that a man of his size and appearance could be so fond of women,” said Mr. Cuthbert.  “He’s the greatest old lady-killer that ever breathed.  For two cents he would have come with us this morning, and let a five thousand dollar commission go.  Do you know Mrs. Shorter?”