"I am afraid we are all in glass cases there, classified and catalogued. But, without putting Mrs. Van Winkle to the labor of searching for brains in New York, I am sure if Miss Ballinger meets some of our brilliant lawyers and noted speakers she will find there is as good talk to be listened to there as anywhere in Europe. I hope she will not judge of American society from any one set, or any single specimen."
"Quite right, Mr. Barham," said Mrs. Courtly, with a kindly nod. "Though hardly complimentary to us, I think you are quite right. No Frenchman would have said that; but you are too much in earnest to think of our feelings—Mrs. Van Winkle's and mine."
Miss Ballinger came to his defence. "It is really more complimentary to think you both incapable of personally applying Mr. Barham's remark than if he had fenced it round with those leafless twigs of conventional politeness which only draw attention to what they were meant to conceal."
"The leaves, themselves, did that in Paradise," murmured Mrs. Van Winkle, leaning back with a dreamy air.
Ballinger was the only one who laughed. Mrs. Courtly coughed, and did not seem quite at ease. Ferrars said quickly,
"Mr. Barham is quite right. Nothing is so misleading as personal experience in forming our estimate of a nation. My friend goes to England, and lives in his hotel all the time (and very bad hotels they often are, it must be owned), I have the good chance to meet a few people I know, and am received with kindness and hospitality. What are our respective opinions worth? Never generalize from individuals. Out of us four Americans who are round this table, only Mr. Barham, perhaps, is the least a typical product of our country."
"Why so?" asked Miss Ballinger.
"Because I see he has great belief in our institutions, our future, our indomitable force. As to me, I gave up any such belief when I was twenty. You said yesterday you doubted if I was a good American. If to believe that our crooked paths are straight, our rough ways smooth, and to proclaim on the housetops that we are the greatest nation on earth—if this is to be a good American, then I am not one."
"I never heard that to love one's country was to be blind to her faults," said Barham, quickly.
"Mr. Ferrars belongs to no country," Mrs. Van Winkle fanned herself as she spoke, with half-closed eyes. "Nor do I. I am more like a Russian, I believe—a Russian George Sand—that is what I feel like. And you, dear Mrs. Courtly? Are you not more French? Madame Récamier, with any number of Chateaubriands round you, it suits you to a T."