Azalea hoped he did. She was desperately anxious for him to realise that in the Capital success is regarded from only one angle, the Social. Professional, literary, political, all these are but feeders to the main issue.
“I spent the afternoon with your exceptionally brilliant Dr. Aldrich,” said Sir Paul Pollock, the eminent British anthropologist, during the course of a dinner the Chesleys had given in his honour.
“Aldrich?” echoed the company. “Who’s he?”
Sir Paul did not take the question seriously. “I don’t blame you,” he laughed. “Two scientists at the same party would be excessively heavy wheeling.”
“But who is he?” insisted Miss Mabel Angus-McCallum. “I never heard of him.”
“Nor I . . .”
“Nor I . . .”
“Well—ah—ha—if you are not pulling my leg,” answered the amazed guest, “perhaps you will be interested in knowing that he is one of the most famous biologists living. But—ah—ha—! I expect you are just stringing me.”
It was gradually borne in upon him that they were not, that they had no desire to cultivate the men and women whose lives are devoted to the advancement of their race, that even the names of such people were unfamiliar to them and that prominence in their especial sphere was clouded by a total eclipse of the social solar system.
It was this latter point that Azalea ardently wished to make Dilling recognise. He was so immersed in his public life that there was little time for the consideration of any other question, and Marjorie had not sufficient astuteness to make the most of her advantage or profit by experiences.