But perhaps it was not just obtuseness to certain of the finer shades and meanings of life, but an irritating aggressiveness at times, backed only by her limited understanding, which caused her to seek and wish to be here, there and the other place; wherever, in her mind, the truly successful--which meant nearly always the materially successful of a second or third rate character--were, which irritated him most of all. How often had he tried to point out the difference between true and shoddy distinction--the former rarely connected with great wealth. But no. So often she seemed to imagine such queer people to be truly successful, when they were really not--usually people with just money, or a very little more. And in the matter of rearing and educating and marrying their two children, Wesley and Ethelberta, who had come after Elwell--what peculiar pains and feelings had not been involved in all this for him. In infancy both of these had seemed sweet enough, and so close to him, though never quite so wonderful as Elwell. But, as they grew, it seemed somehow as though Ernestine had come between him and them. First, it was the way she had raised them, the very stiff and formal manner in which they were supposed to move and be, copied from the few new-rich whom she had chanced to meet through him--and admired in spite of his warnings. That was the irony of architecture as a profession--it was always bringing such queer people close to one, and for the sake of one’s profession, sometimes, particularly in the case of the young architect, one had to be nice to them. Later, it was the kind of school they should attend. He had half imagined at first that it would be the public school, because they both had begun as simple people; but no, since they were prospering it had to be a private school for each, and not one of his selection, either--or hers, really--but one to which the Barlows and the Westervelts, two families of means with whom Ernestine had become intimate, sent their children and therefore thought excellent!