innati to try a
case before the Supreme Court, and was snubbed by a man named Stanton.

When we meet the truly great, several things may happen. In the first
place, we begin to believe in their luck, or fate, or whatever we choose
to call it, and to curse our own. We begin to respect ourselves the
more, and to realize that they are merely clay like us, that we are
great men without Opportunity. Sometimes, if we live long enough near
the Great, we begin to have misgivings. Then there is hope for us.

Mrs. Brice, with her simple black gowns, quiet manner, and serene face,
with her interest in others and none in herself, had a wonderful effect
upon the boarders. They were nearly all prepared to be humble. They grew
arrogant and pretentious. They asked Mrs. Brice if she knew this
and that person of consequence in Boston, with whom they claimed
relationship or intimacy. Her answers were amiable and self-contained.

But what shall we say of Stephen Brice? Let us confess at once that it
is he who is the hero of this story, and not Eliphalet Hopper. It
would be so easy to paint Stephen in shining colors, and to make him a
first-class prig (the horror of all novelists), that we must begin with
the drawbacks. First and worst, it must be confessed that Stephen had
at that time what has been called "the Boston manner." This was not
Stephen's fault, but Boston's. Young Mr. Brice possessed that
wonderful power of expressing distance in other terms besides ells and
furlongs,--and yet he was simple enough with it all.

Many a furtive stare he drew from the table that evening. There were one
or two of discernment present, and they noted that his were the generous
features of a marked man,--if he chose to become marked. He inherited
his mother's look; hers was the face of a strong woman, wide of
sympathy, broad of experience, showing peace of mind amid troubles--the
touch of femininity was there to soften it.

Her son had the air of the college-bred. In these surroundings he
escaped arrogance by the wonderful kindliness of his eye, which lighted
when his mother spoke to him. But he was not at home at Miss Crane's
table, and he made no attempt to appear at his ease.

This was an unexpected pleasure for Mr. Eliphalet Hopper. Let it not be
thought that he was the only one at that table to indulge in a little
secret rejoicing. But it was a peculiar satisfaction to him to reflect
that these people, who had held up their heads for so many