ir of an English groom. Two girls near her, to whom
she had been talking, began speaking in lowered voices in French, but
she could not help overhearing them, and her face flushed hotly when
she found that her mother and her appearance were the subject of their
foreign remarks.

Luckily at the moment Mr. King approached, and Irene extended her hand
and said, with a laugh, "Ah, monsieur," speaking in a very pretty Paris
accent, and perhaps with unnecessary distinctness, "you were quite
right: the society here is very different from Cyrusville; there they
all talk about each other."

Mr. King, who saw that something had occurred, was quick-witted enough
to reply jestingly in French, as they moved away, but he asked, as soon
as they were out of ear-shot, "What is it?"

"Nothing," said the girl, recovering her usual serenity. "I only said
something for the sake of saying something; I didn't mean to speak so
disrespectfully of my own town. But isn't it singular how local and
provincial society talk is everywhere? I must look up mother, and then I
want you to take me on the veranda for some air. What a delightful house
this is of your cousin's!"

The two young ladies who had dropped into French looked at each other
for a moment after Irene moved away, and one of them spoke for both when
she exclaimed: "Did you ever see such rudeness in a drawing-room!
Who could have dreamed that she understood?" Mrs. Benson had been
established very comfortably in a corner with Professor Slem, who was
listening with great apparent interest to her accounts of the early life
in Ohio. Irene seemed relieved to get away into the open air, but she
was in a mood that Mr. King could not account for. Upon the veranda they
encountered Miss Lamont and the artist, whose natural enjoyment of the
scene somewhat restored her equanimity. Could there be anything more
refined and charming in the world than this landscape, this hospitable,
smiling house, with the throng of easy-mannered, pleasant-speaking
guests, leisurely flowing along in the conventional stream of social
comity. One must be a churl not to enjoy it. But Irene was not sorry
when, presently, it was time to go, though she tried to extract some
comfort from her mother's enjoyment of the occasion. It was beautiful.
Mr. Benson was in a calculating mood. He thought it needed a great deal
of money to make things run so smoothly.

Why should one inquire in such a paradise if things do run smoothly