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"And I never did like martyrs a great deal," March interposed. "I wonder how they came to be there," Mrs. March pursued, unmindful of his joke. "That is exactly what seemed to be puzzling Miss Mela about us.
One favorite volume was a small octavo edition of the Directorium Inquisitorium, by the Dominican Eymeric de Gironne; and there were passages in Pomponius Mela, about the old African Satyrs and OEgipans, over which Usher would sit dreaming for hours.
"I fancy proximity doesn't count for much in New York," March suggested. Mrs. Mandel said: "That's what I tell Miss Mela. But she is a very social nature, and can't reconcile herself to the fact." "No, I can't," the girl pouted. "I think it was twice as much fun in Moffitt. I wish I was there now." "Yes," said March, "I think there's a great deal more enjoyment in those smaller places.
Some winters were spent in itinerating in hill districts from which the people did not go to the Bhabhur. In these winters I had the opportunity of going to a mela held at Bageswur, about thirty-five miles from Ranee Khet, at the confluence of the Surjoo and the Kalee. This mela is the greatest held in the Province. To many it is the grand event of the year.
Fulkerson," said Christine, serenely. "Why, I'm sure, Christine," her mother pleaded, "Mr. Fulkerson is a very good young man, and very nice appearun'." Mela shouted, "He's ten times as pleasant as that old Mr. Beaton of Christine's!" Christine made no effort to break the constraint that fell upon the table at this sally, but her father said: "Christine is right, Mela.
"We receive in the evening." "When we do receive," Miss Mela put in. "We don't always get the chance to." She began a laugh, which she checked at a smile from Mrs. Mandel, which no one could have seen to be reproving. Miss Dryfoos looked down at her fan, and looked up defiantly at Mrs. March. "I suppose you have hardly got settled. We were afraid we would disturb you when we called." "Oh no!
All of every caste can eat what he has prepared, but he helps himself first, and eats apart. To return to the mela. The evening is well advanced before the repast is over. We might suppose that after the stir of the day all would be ready for sleep, and no doubt many lie down and sleep soundly; but quite a number are too eager for the enjoyment of the fair to give themselves to rest.
I think the city itself is preaching the best sermon all the time." "I don't know that I understand you," said March. Mela answered for him. "Oh, Conrad has got a lot of notions that nobody can understand. You ought to see the church he goes to when he does go. I'd about as lief go to a Catholic church myself; I don't see a bit o' difference.
As he put out his hand to Christine, she pushed it aside with a scream of rage; she flashed at him, and with both hands made a feline pass at the face he bent toward her. He sprang back, and after an instant of stupefaction he pulled open the door behind him and ran out into the street. "Well, Christine Dryfoos!" said Mela, "Sprang at him like a wild-cat!" "I, don't care," Christine shrieked.
Dryfoos, through Fulkerson, had asked all the more intimate contributors of 'Every Other Week' to come. Beaton was absent, but Fulkerson had brought Miss Woodburn, with her father, and Mrs. Leighton and Alma, to fill up, as he said. Mela was much present, and was official with the arrangement of the flowers and the welcome of the guests.
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