Browett has it himself, but I have a greater one.

Every time Browett's eyes meet mine he knows in his soul that I'm his master--his _ego_ prostrates itself before mine--and yet that man"-- he concluded in a tone of distinguishable awe--"is worth all the way from two to three hundred millions!" "Mrs.Eversley is an unlucky little woman, from what I hear," began Aunt Bell, once more with altruistic aims.
"That reminds me," said the Doctor, recalling himself from a downward look at the grovelling Browett, "she made me promise to be in at four o'clock.

Really I couldn't evade her--it was either four o'clock to-day or the first possible day.

What could I do?
Aunt Bell, I won't pretend that this being looked up to and sought out is always disagreeable.
Contrary to the Pharisee, I say 'Thank God I _am_ as other men are!' I have my human moments, but mostly it bores me, and especially these half-religious, half-sentimental confidences of emotional women who imagine their lives are tragedies.

Now this woman believes her marriage is unhappy--" "Indeed, it is!" Aunt Bell broke in--this time effectually, for she proceeded to relate of one Morris Upton Eversley a catalogue of inelegancies that, if authoritative, left him, considered as a husband, undesirable, not to say impracticable.