seemed very full, though
this perhaps was because people were always so quiet. The ladies, who
outnumbered the men ten to one, as they always do at a New York tea,
were dressed in sympathy with the low tone every one spoke in, and
with the subdued light which gave a crepuscular uncertainty to the few
objects, the dim pictures, the unexcited upholstery, of the rooms. One
breathed free of bric-a-brac there, and the new-comer breathed softly as
one does on going into church after service has begun. This might be a
suggestion from the voiceless behavior of the man-servant who let
you in, but it was also because Mrs. Horn's At Home was a ceremony, a
decorum, and not festival. At far greater houses there was more gayety,
at richer houses there was more freedom; the suppression at Mrs. Horn's
was a personal, not a social, effect; it was an efflux of her character,
demure, silentious, vague, but very correct.

Beaton easily found his way to her around the grouped skirts and among
the detached figures, and received a pressure of welcome from the hand
which she momentarily relaxed from the tea-pot. She sat behind a table
put crosswise of a remote corner, and offered tea to people whom a niece
of hers received provisionally or sped finally in the outer room. They
did not usually take tea, and when they did they did not usually drink
it; but Beaton was, feverishly glad of his cup; he took rum and lemon in
it, and stood talking at Mrs. Horn's side till the next arrival should
displace him: he talked in his French manner.

"I have been hoping to see you," she said. "I wanted to ask you about
the Leightons. Did they really come?"

"I believe so. They are in town--yes. I haven't seen them."

"Then you don't know how they're getting on--that pretty creature, with
her cleverness, and poor Mrs. Leighton? I was afraid they were venturing
on a rash experiment. Do you know where they are?"

"In West Eleventh Street somewhere. Miss Leighton is in Mr. Wetmore's
class."

"I must look them up. Do you know their number?"

"Not at the moment. I can find out."

"Do," said Mrs. Horn. "What courage they must have, to plunge into New
York as they've done! I really didn't think they would. I wonder if
they've succeeded in getting anybody into their house yet?"

"I don't know," said Beaton.

"I discouraged their coming all I could," she sighed, "and I suppose you
did, too. But it's quite useless trying to make people in a place like
St. Bar