The fall of the act drop was followed by a confused fluttering of dresses and hum of voices; people stretched and rose, talked, or wandered toward the foyer, while hundreds of glasses were leveled at the boxes, and every one of mark or notoriety was scrutinized by hundreds of eyes and criticised by hundreds of tongues. Society was there paraded in two rows of little pens, labeled and ticketed at so many millions per head, to be gazed upon by the curious and envious of that great throng. Society was the operatic side-show, and society paid dearly for the privilege of being seen.
"Do you like to be gazed at by a crowd, Mr. Grahame?" said Florence, after a momentary silence.
"Yes, I think I do," he replied. "It makes one feel so superior to be up above, looking down on the 'madding crowd'."
"Do you think so? I always feel like a caged animal at a menagerie, where each one who pays the admission fee can gratify the curiosity he has about me, and poke me with his umbrella if he does not like my looks."
"How absurd; but I understand you are democratic in your feelings and object to class distinctions."
"Not in the least; on the contrary I believe in them. Nature herself has decreed that no two creatures can be equal. What I object to are inflated distinctions which rest on no foundation, and collapse completely when pricked by sound opinion."
"Miss Moreland believes in an aristocracy of merit," interposed Harold Wainwright.
"Yes," replied Florence, "but where is it to be found?"
"Not in a republic," retorted Duncan. "A democracy is a breeding ground of plutocrats."
"Perhaps, when its Government discourages every intellectual pursuit," replied Wainwright. He felt strongly the ungratefulness of republics, as his father had been a Federal judge on a miserly salary, with no pension after years of faithful service.