"My dear," said Mrs. Millet as the servant withdrew with the dessert,
"Walter has an invitation to the Hon. David Greene's to-night."
No response from Mr. Millet, "the wooden man," one of whose pleasant
peculiarities it was never to answer a question till the next day after
it was addressed to him.
Mrs. Millet, quite broken in to this little conjugal eccentricity,
proceeded; "It will be a good thing for John, Mr. Millet; I am anxious
that all his acquaintances should be of the right sort. Hyacinth has
often told me how much it made or marred a boy's fortune, the set he
associated with. Herbert Greene has the air of a thorough-bred man
already. You see now, Mr. Millet, the importance of Hyacinth's advice to
us about five years ago, to move into a more fashionable neighborhood;
to be sure rents are rather high here, but I am very sure young Snyder
would never have thought of offering himself to Leila had not we lived
at the court-end of the town. Hyacinth considers it a great catch in
point of family, and I have no doubt Snyder is a nice fellow. I wish
before you go, Mr. Millet, you would leave the money to buy Leila
a velvet jacket; it will not cost more than forty dollars (lace,
trimmings, and all); it will be very becoming to Leila. What, going?
oh, I forgot to tell you, that Ruth's father was here this morning,
bothering me just as I was dressing my hair for dinner. It seems that he
is getting tired of furnishing the allowance he promised to give Ruth,
and says that it is _our_ turn now to do something. He is a great deal
better off than we are, and so I told him; and also, that we were
obliged to live in a certain style for the dear children's sake; beside,
are we _not_ doing something for her? I allow Ruth to do her washing in
our kitchen every week, provided she finds her own soap. Stop a minute,
Mr. Millet; _do_ leave the forty dollars for Leila's jacket before you
go. Cicchi, the artist, wants her to sit for a Madonna,--quite a pretty
tribute to Leila's beauty; he only charges three hundred dollars; his
study is No. 1, Clive street."
"S-t-u-d-i-o," said Mr. Millet, (slowly and oracularly, who, being
on several school committees, thought it his duty to make an extra
exertion, when the king's English was misapplied;) "s-t-u-d-i-o, Mrs.
Millet;" and buttoning the eighth button of his overcoat, he moved
slowly out the front door, and down the street to his counting-room,
getting over the ground with about as much flexibility and grace of
motion as the wooden horses on the stage.