rd generation had taken possession, these
would all be dead or forgotten, and there would no longer be any link
to connect them with reality!

In the light of this thought one was moved to watch the children of the
rich. Some of these had inherited scores of millions of dollars while
they were still in the cradle; now and then one of them would be
presented with a million-dollar house for a birthday gift. When such a
baby was born, the newspapers would give pages to describing its
layette, with baby dresses at a hundred dollars each, and lace
handkerchiefs at five dollars, and dressing-sets with tiny gold brushes
and powder-boxes; one might see a picture of the precious object in a
"Moses basket," covered with rare and wonderful Valenciennes lace.

This child would grow up in an atmosphere of luxury and
self-indulgence; it would be bullying the servants at the age of six,
and talking scandal and smoking cigarettes at twelve. It would be
petted and admired and stared at, and paraded about in state, dressed
up like a French doll; it would drink in snobbery and hatefulness with
the very air it breathed. One might meet in these great houses little
tots not yet in their teens whose talk was all of the cost of things,
and of the inferiority of their neighbours. There was nothing in the
world too good for them.--They had little miniature automobiles to ride
about the country in, and blooded Arabian ponies, and doll-houses in
real Louis Seize, with jewelled rugs and miniature electric lights. At
Mrs. Caroline Smythe's, Montague was introduced to a pale and
anaemic-looking youth of thirteen, who dined in solemn state alone when
the rest of the family was away, and insisted upon having all the
footmen in attendance; and his unfortunate aunt brought a storm about
her ears by forbidding the butler to take champagne upstairs into the
nursery before lunch.

A little remark stayed in Montague's mind as expressing the attitude of
Society toward such matters. Major Venable had chanced to remark
jestingly that children were coming to understand so much nowadays that
it was necessary for the ladies to be careful. To which Mrs. Vivie
Patton answered, with a sudden access of seriousness: "I don't know--do
you find that children have any morals? Mine haven't."

And then the fascinating Mrs. Vivie went on to tell the truth about her
own children. They were natural-born savages, and that was all there
was to it. They did as they pleased, a