She never was in a
thorough and undisguised rage, as Marion was quite likely to be. She
was, in her own estimation, a model of propriety. All this until she
came to Chautauqua. Now, great was her surprise to discover in herself a
disposition to be utterly disgusted with things that to Marion were of
so little consequences as to be unnoticed, and that to Eurie were
positive sources of fun.

Doubtless you understand her better than she did herself. The truth is,
it is a comparatively easy matter to be gracious and courteous and
unruffled when everything about you is moving exactly according to your
mind, and when you can think of nothing earthly to be annoyed about.
There are some natures that are deceiving their own hearts in just such
an atmosphere as this. They are not the lowest type of nature by any
means. The small, petty trials that come to every life are beneath them.
If it rains when they want to walk they can go in a handsome carriage,
and keep their tempers. If their elegant new robes prove to be badly
made they can have them remodeled and made more elegant with a superior
composure. In just so far are they above the class who can endure
nothing in the shape of annoyances or disappointment, however small. The
fact is, however, that there are petty annoyance, _not_ coming in their
line of life, that would be altogether too much for them. But of this
they remain in graceful ignorance until some Chautauqua brings the
sleeping shadows to the surface.

CHAPTER VII.

TABLE TALK.

"What is your private explanation of the word 'hotel'?" Marion asked.
She was in an argumentative mood, and it made almost no difference to
her which side of the question she argued. "Webster says it is a place
to entertain strangers, but you seem to attach some special importance
to the term."

"Is that all that Webster says?"

The questioner was not Ruth, but a man who sat just opposite to them at
the table, and while he waited for his order to be filled watched with
amused eyes the four gills who were evidently in a new element. He was
not a young man, and his gray hairs would have arrested the pertness of
the reply on Marion's tongue at any other time than this, but you
remember that she was not in a good mood. She answered promptly; "Yes,
sir, he says ever so many things. In fact, he is the most voluminous
author I ever read."

The gentleman laughed. The pertness seemed to amuse him.

"Didn't I limit my question?" he