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"We owe Arthur Fenton more scores than we can ever settle," observed the hostess, "for the things he says about women. He said to me the other day that the society of lovely woman is always a delight except when a man was in earnest about something." "I said to him, one night," added Elsie Dimmont, "that Kate West wasn't in her first youth. 'Oh, no! he said, 'her third or fourth at least."
Whether from a secret intention of rebuking Miss Dimmont for her associations with one socially so impossible as Chauncy Wilson, or with the less amiable design of disciplining Miss Merrivale for her friendship with Mrs. Sampson, the hostess adroitly and deliberately turned the conversation to social themes, and thence on to what perhaps were best described as the proprieties of caste.
Stanton had invited the artists, members of the press, and all the people that he knew, whether they knew him or not. Mrs. Frostwinch was there, Mrs. Staggchase, Elsie Dimmont, and Ethel Mott; and although Mrs. Bodewin Ranger was not actually present, she in a manner lent her countenance by sending her carriage to the door to call for one of her friends.
Mrs. Staggchase invited the guests for her luncheon before she spoke of them to Miss Merrivale. "I have asked Mrs. Bodewin Ranger," she explained, "although she is old enough to be your grandmother, because she is the nicest old lady in Boston, and it is a liberal education to meet her." The other guests were Mrs. Frostwinch, Ethel Mott, and Elsie Dimmont. "Elsie Dimmont," Mrs.
It is a tribute to her powers too genuine to be disputed, and while she may labor to overcome the man's feeling, her vanity cannot but be gratified that he has it. "Did you ever know anything like the way Elsie Dimmont is going on with Dr. Wilson?" Ethel said, presently, by way of continuing the conversation. "I can't see what she finds to like in him.
"How cleverly you do sketch," Miss Dimmont said, under her breath; "but it was horrid of you to make me laugh." "You are grateful," Fenton returned, in the same tone. "You know I kept you from being bored to death." "I have a cousin, Miss Wainwright," pursued Miss Dimmont, "whose picture we want you to paint."
The parlors were filling when they arrived, and Arthur, who knew how to select good company, managed to secure a seat between Miss Elsie Dimmont, a young and rather gay society girl, and Mrs. Frederick Staggchase, a descendant of an old Boston family, who was called one of the cleverest women of her set. "Is Mr. Fenwick going to read?" he asked of the latter, glancing about to see who was present.
Fenton drew out his tablets and amused himself and Miss Dimmont by drawing caricatures of the company, ending with a sketch of a handsome old dowager, who went so soundly to sleep that her jaw fell. Over this his companion laughed so heartily that Mrs.
"I wish I could act," put in Miss Dimmont, emphatically. "I'd go on to the stage in a minute." Mrs. Ranger looked shocked and grieved as well. "My dear," she said, "you can't realize what you are saying. The stage has always been a hotbed of immorality from the very beginning of theatrical art, and nothing can reform it." "Reform it," echoed Mrs. Staggchase, suavely; "we don't want to reform it.
"The poem is most remarkable for the intimate knowledge it shows of human nature. Take a line like:" 'Men have outgrown the shame of being fools; "We can see such striking instances of its truth all about us." "How can you?" exclaimed Elsie Dimmont, under her breath. Fenton had not been able wholly to keep out of his tone the mockery which he intended, and several people looked at him askance.
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