suppress the conventional, as many a theorist believes. She was no theorist, but only a sensible woman who had seen a good deal of the world, and I fear that she did not believe in that suppression of the conventional. But whatever it was, she was anxious, as was natural, on a matter which would have so large an influence upon her entire life. “I’ll tell you what you can do to amuse yourself,” he said, “when you’re tired of the pictures and all that. Go to Wardour Street, Evelyn, and if you see anything that strikes your fancy, buy it. Buying is a great amusement. And we shall want all sorts of handsome things. Yes, I know. I’d put it into the best upholsterer’s hands and tell him to spare no expense. But that’s not your way: I’ve learnt as much as that. And then there are carpets and curtains and things. Buy away--buy freely. You know what is the right thing. What’s the name of the people in Regent Street, eh? Well go there--buy him up if you please--the whole shop. _I_ don’t care for those flimsy green and yellow things. I like solid, velvet and damask, and so forth. But what does that matter if you do? I like what you like.” “Do you want me to ruin you, James?” she said. He laughed with that deep laugh of enjoyment which moneyed men bring out of the profoundness of their pockets and persons. “If it pleases you,” he said. He was not afraid. That she should ruin him, was a very good joke. He had no desire for an economical wife. He wanted her to be extravagant, to get every pretty thing that struck her fancy. He had a vision of himself standing in the drawing-room which looked out upon the Clyde, and saying to everybody, “It’s my wife’s taste. I don’t pretend to know about this sort of thing, except that it costs a lot of money. It’s she that’s responsible.” And this anticipation pleased him to the bottom of his heart.