But she was vexed with herself as soon as the words were spoken. She held no brief for her husband; she didn't have to. Everyone knew Lewis was brilliantly clever—even those who were put off by his indifference, his lack of enthusiasm, recognized his superiority. "A fellow who'll make his mark, my son-in-law," Mr. Spear described him, leaning back comfortably in an armchair of the cosy little flat provided by Lewis for his parents-in-law, and puffing at a Corona of the thousand Lewis had sent him for Christmas. Being able to escape from Eaglewood for the winter months had singularly softened Mr. Spear's view of human nature, and lent an added lustre to his admiration for Halo's husband. "Anyone who doesn't recognize Tarrant's ability is simply envious of it, that's all… ." Ah, how Halo loved her father for saying that! Poor Frenside's congenital lack of generosity always prevented his predicting for others the success he himself had missed; but Mr. Spear, now that he and his wife had their own little nook in New York, and could gather about them the dowdy middle-aged conformists whom Mrs. Spear still called revolutionaries—Mr. Spear had become tolerant and even benignant. He still wrote to the papers to denounce what he called crying evils, such as the fact that the consumption of whole wheat bread was not made compulsory ("If I may cite my own humble experience," that kind of letter always said), or that no method had been devised for automatically disinfecting the tin cups attached to public fountains. ("An instance of this criminal negligence may actually be found within a hundred feet of my own door," was the formula in such cases—thus revealing to his readers that Mr. Spear had a New York door.) But all this was rather by way of a literary exercise than to relieve a burning indignation; now that his life had been reshaped to his satisfaction Mr. Spear was disposed to let others do their own protesting. "After all, there's something to be said for the constituted authorities," he had been known to declare, smiling indulgently across his daughter's dinner table; and if Mrs. Spear's short-haired satellites (women, Mr. Spear now called them, who had been sexually underfed) had not been forever challenging him to take up his pen in denunciation of one outrage or another—"you really ought to, Mr. Spear, with your marvellous way of putting things"—the ink would have coagulated in his Waterman.

Prosperity had affected Mrs. Spear differently. It had made her more indignant, more agitated, more emaciatedly beautiful; while a rising plumpness rounded Mr. Spear's waistcoat his wife's garments hung more slackly from her drooping shoulders and restless arms. While there was so much misery in the world, how was it possible, she asked her daughter, for those in happier circumstances not to strain every nerve …  ?

"But you strained yours to a frazzle long ago, mother; and the world still goes on in its old juggernaut way."