“Two of the clubs to which I belong,” continued Rose, “have very important subjects under discussion. One is the Domestic Symposium, and we consider topics relating to Household Economy. At present, we are trying to solve the Servant Girl Question.”
“Oh!” cried Harry, with a hearty laugh, “if you indeed solve that problem, Rose, men will give you the suffrage, and leave the currency, and the tariff, and all such small financial and political questions to you.”
“Thanks, Harry! It is likely we may voluntarily take them into consideration. This is an age of majorities. If we accomplish the suffrage, women will have a majority on all questions; and the reduction of man 24 becomes a mere matter of time. I was going to remark, that another of my clubs occupies itself with the criticism of the highest poets of the age.”
“Who are they?” asked Adriana.
“That is the point we have been arguing all last winter. We have had difficulties. Mrs. Johnstone Miller raised objections to the consideration of any but American poets; and it took two months’ sittings to settle that question. You would be astonished at the strength of some people’s prejudices!” ejaculated Rose, holding up her pretty hands to emphasize her own astonishment.
“Not at all,” answered Harry. “They call their prejudices ‘principles,’ and then, of course, they cannot be decently relinquished.”
“Mrs. Johnstone Miller is a very superior woman. It is a great thing to hear her criticise Longfellow, Whittier, Eugene Field, Will Carlton, and the rest. I am sure she believes that she could easily excel each in their own department, if she were not prevented by her high-bred exclusiveness.”
“Not unlikely, Rose; there is no impertinence like the impertinence of mediocrity.”
“Mediocrity! Why, Harry, Mrs. Johnstone Miller is worth all of three million dollars, and it is very good of her to interest herself about literature at all.” And with these words Mrs. Filmer rose, and Harry gave her his arm, and the little party strolled slowly round the piazzas, and so through the blue portières into the drawing-room. And as Adriana did so, she had a vivid memory of Harry Filmer as she first saw him, standing between the pale draperies. They had emphasized his black hair and eyes and garments very distinctly; for the young man was physically “dark,” 25 even the vivid coloring of his face being laid upon a skin more brown than white.
Mrs. Filmer made herself comfortable in the easiest of easy chairs, and began mechanically to turn and change the many rings upon her fingers; the act being evidently a habit, conducive to reflection or rest. She told Harry to “go away and smoke his cigar”; but the young man said he “was saving the pleasure until the moon rose; and in the meantime,” he added, “he should expect the ladies to amuse him. Rose was talking of the greatest poets of the age,” he said, “but I am wondering what possible use we can have for poetry. Our age is so distinctively material and epicurean.”