“Oh, I am not in the least learned about meanings,” answered Miss Thorn. “I mean what one means by society, you know. Heaps of men and women, and tea-parties, and staying in the country, and that.”
“That is a sketch indeed,” said John, laughing. “But then it is rather different here. We do not relapse into the country as you do in England, and then come back to town like lions refreshed with sleep.”
“Why not?”
“Because once in society here one is always in it. At least, most people are. As soon as heat begins Boston goes to New York; and by-and-by New York goes to Saratoga, and takes Boston with it; and then all three go to Newport, and the thing begins again, until there is a general rush to Lenox, to see the glories of the autumn; and by the time the glories are getting a little thin it is time to be in Beacon Street again.”
“But when do people shoot and ride?–do they ever hunt?” asked Miss Thorn, opening her wide brown eyes in some astonishment at John Harrington’s description of society life in America.
“Oh yes, they hunt at Newport with a drag and a bagged fox. They do it in July and August, when it is as hot as it can be, and the farmers turn out with pitchforks and stones to warn them off the growing crops.”
“How ridiculous!” exclaimed Miss Josephine.
“It is absurd, of course,” said Harrington, “and cruel. But I must say they ride as though there were no hereafter, and it is a stiff country.”
“They must, I should think; no one who believed in a hereafter would hunt in summer.”
“I will wager that if you go to Newport this summer you will hunt, just like everybody else,” said John boldly.