hemselves, as we see
here in our excellent host and hostess, with what there is of old blood
in the country and win tradition to guide their power. They are not the
flaunting, vulgar rich, of whom we hear so much from those who do not
know them, but the anxious, thoughtful, virtuous rich, oppressed by
their responsibilities and all studying so hard, poor dears, at stiff,
deep books, in order to fulfil them worthily. They all go to
_conferences_, these ladies, it seems, and study sociology. They take
life with a seriousness that I have never seen equalled. Mrs. Asprey is
like them all; good, oh, but yes. And I am pleased to know her, too.
Mrs. Furnivall had promised her long since, she tells me, that it should
be. She and Mrs. Furnivall are old school-mates."

Miss Scrotton, all her merit thus mildly withdrawn from her, stood
silent for some moments looking away at the lake and the Turneresque
trees.

"It was so very kind of you, Mercedes, to have had Mr. Drew asked here,"
she observed at last, very casually. "It is a real opportunity for a
young bohemian of that type; you are a true fairy-godmother to him;
first Mrs. Forrester and now the Aspreys. Curious, wasn't it, his
appearing over here so suddenly?"

"Curious? It did not strike me so," said Madame von Marwitz, showing no
consciousness of the thrust her friend had ventured to essay. "People
come to America a great deal, do they not; and often suddenly. It is the
country of suddenness. His books are much read here, it seems, and he
had business with his publishers. He knew, too, that I was here; and
that to him was also an attraction. Why curious, my Scrotton?"

Miss Scrotton disliked intensely being called "my Scrotton;" but she had
never yet found the necessary courage to protest against the
appellation. "Oh, only because I had had no hint of it until he
appeared," she returned. "And I wondered if you had had. Yes; I suppose
he would be a good deal read over here. It is a very derivative and
artificial talent, don't you think, darling?"

"Rather derivative; rather artificial," Madame von Marwitz replied
serenely.

"He doesn't look well, does he?" Miss Scrotton pursued, after a little
pause. "I don't like that puffiness about the eyelids and chin. It will
be fatal for him to become fat."

"No," said Madame von Marwitz, as serenely as before, her eyes now on a
letter that she held. "Ah, no; he could rise above fat, that young man.
I can see him fat with impu