The girl smiled. “When I marry,” she announced, “I shall take a lesson in managing a husband from that dear, clever little friend of mine in Atchison, whose husband takes his ‘ease in his inn,’ sitting in a rocking-chair while he eats. He shows his appreciation of the privilege, by holding her hand between bites. Just think!” she added pensively, “they have been married five years, and he still loves her!”
“I don’t see what that has to do with your reading the paper at the breakfast table.”
“Why, Auntie,” and Meg looked reproachfully at her over the paper, “you know I do it to save you the trouble of reading it yourself. Let me see what is happening.” And she glanced over the front page. “‘More Macedonians murdered,’—we won’t go into the details, please,—‘Jealous lover shoots sweetheart,’—I’m glad I’m redheaded; it saves complications,—‘Woman murders faithless husband,’—oh, what a bloody world we live in! No, it is a beautiful world,” she said softly, after a little pause, “when there are such women as Helen Gould in it. She has been giving the waifs another outing at her lovely home. Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish has consented to an interview. She declares that America must have an aristocracy. She doesn’t say whether it will be an aristocracy of brains or money. It must be the former, as she deplores the depredations on the outskirts of society, committed by the vulgar rich. Yes, of course it is of brains,—that order of brains which can originate ‘cute’ things with which to amuse and entertain the elect.”
Mrs. Weston, growing restive, interposed, “That does not interest me. Read the local news.”
“You are so provincial, Auntie,” was Meg’s comment, as she turned the paper; “you belong so hopelessly to Valencia!”
“Well, so do you,” was the brief retort.
“Not in the way I mean, my dear Aunt! My spirit is cosmopolitan, though, Prometheus-like, I am chained to Valencia. While my head is in the clouds, my feet are, oh, very much on the earth!”
“You do talk the greatest nonsense.”
“Do I? Then I’ll read to you instead of talking. ‘Mrs. Guy Worthington Deflurry has returned from an extended Eastern trip.’”
“Mrs. who? oh, Mrs. Deflurry? I suppose she had some handsome clothes made while she was gone.” Mrs. Weston was tremulous with excitement.