ow it is fictitious, and the narrator
may know that she knows it. But there seems to be a fascination in the
telling and the hearing all the same.

Helen amused herself greatly over the deep interest Anne took in her
stories; to do her justice, they were generally true, the conversations
only being more dramatic than the reality had been. This was not Helen's
fault; she performed her own part brilliantly, and even went over, on
occasion, and helped on the other side. But the American man is not
distinguished for conversational skill. This comes, not from dullness or
lack of appreciation, but rather from overappreciation. Without the
rock-like slow self-confidence of the Englishman, the Frenchman's
never-failing wish to please, or the idealizing powers of the German,
the American, with a quicker apprehension, does not appear so well in
conversation as any one of these compeers. He takes in an idea so
quickly that elaborate comment seems to him hardly worth while; and thus
he only has a word or two where an Englishman has several
well-intentioned sentences, a Frenchman an epigram, and a German a whole
cloud of philosophical quotations and comments. But it is, more than all
else, the enormous strength which ridicule as an influence possesses in
America that makes him what he is; he shrinks from the slightest
appearance of "fine talking," lest the ever-present harpies of mirth
should swoop down and feed upon his vitals.

Helen's friends, therefore, might not always have recognized themselves
in her sparkling narratives, as far as their words were concerned; but
it is only justice to them to add that she was never obliged to
embellish their actions. She related to Anne apart, during their music
lessons, the latest events in a whisper, while Belzini gave two minutes
to cream candy and rest; the stories became the fairy tales of the
school-girl's quiet life. Through all, she found her interest more and
more attracted by "the Bishop," who seemed, however, to be anything but
an ecclesiastical personage.

Miss Vanhorn had been filled with profound astonishment and annoyance by
Helen's note. She knew Helen, and she knew Miss Teller: what could they
want of Anne? After due delay, she came in her carriage to find out.

Tante, comprehending her motive, sent Anne up stairs to attire herself
in the second dress given by Helen--a plain black costume, simply but
becomingly made, and employed the delay in talking to her visitor
mellif