“I should say so—rather!” Trenor, who was seldom listened to, either by his wife or her friends, settled down into the rare enjoyment of a confidential talk. “You don’t know how a fellow has to hustle to keep this kind of thing going.” He waved his whip in the direction of the Bellomont acres, which lay outspread before them in opulent undulations. “Judy has no idea of what she spends—not that there isn’t plenty to keep the thing going,” he interrupted himself, “but a man has got to keep his eyes open and pick up all the tips he can. My father and mother used to live like fighting-cocks on their income, and put by a good bit of it too—luckily for me—but at the pace we go now, I don’t know where I should be if it weren’t for taking a flyer now and then. The women all think—I mean Judy thinks—I’ve nothing to do but to go downtown once a month and cut off coupons, but the truth is it takes a devilish lot of hard work to keep the machinery running. Not that I ought to complain today, though,” he went on after a moment, “for I did a very neat stroke of business, thanks to Stepney’s friend Rosedale: by the way, Miss Lily, I wish you’d try to persuade Judy to be decently civil to that chap. He’s going to be rich enough to buy us all out one of these days, and if she’d only ask him to dine now and then I could get almost anything out of him. The man is mad to know the people who don’t want to know him, and when a fellow’s in that state there is nothing he won’t do for the first woman who takes him up.” Lily hesitated a moment. The first part of her companion’s discourse had started an interesting train of thought, which was rudely interrupted by the mention of Mr. Rosedale’s name. She uttered a faint protest. “But you know Jack did try to take him about, and he was impossible.” “Oh, hang it—because he’s fat and shiny, and has a sloppy manner! Well, all I can say is that the people who are clever enough to be civil to him now will make a mighty good thing of it. A few years from now he’ll be in it whether we want him or not, and then he won’t be giving away a half-a-million tip for a dinner.” Lily’s mind had reverted from the intrusive personality of Mr. Rosedale to the train of thought set in motion by Trenor’s first words. This vast mysterious Wall Street world of “tips” and “deals”—might she not find in it the means of escape from her dreary predicament? She had often heard of women making money in this way through their friends: she had no more notion than most of her sex of the exact nature of the transaction, and its vagueness seemed to diminish its indelicacy. She could not, indeed, imagine herself, in any extremity, stooping to extract a “tip” from Mr. Rosedale; but at her side was a man in possession of that precious commodity, and who, as the husband of her dearest friend, stood to her in a relation of almost fraternal intimacy.