'My dear, never before have I seen the carpet without a drugget over it. Wonderful, is it not? It really makes one feel as if one must either dislocate one's ankle or plunge knee-deep in the ocean walking over it. That is high art. Is the bow under my chin pulled out properly? Hush! I hear them coming.'

The heightened colour left her cheek.

But no—none arrived. It comported with the dignity of the family not to exhibit over cordiality in the reception of a relative of an inferior social stage.

'My dear!' in a whisper, 'when Mrs. Tomkin-Jones comes, if she graciously speaks to you, answer with a ma'am just once, or perhaps twice. Not too many ma'ams, or she will think you have been in a shop. You understand?'

The house, opening into the street, but pretending to belong to the square, was perhaps typical of the Tomkin-Jones family. That family affected to belong to a social order above that to which it actually pertained. But in this it was not peculiar. With few exceptions most people aim at appearing, socially or morally, what they are not. And it is well that they should do so, for it is precisely this straining upward after something higher which is the motive principle of civilisation. Through ten thousand ages the negro never felt this, and therefore remained where he was when first planted in Africa.

There are insects that assume the appearance of leaves, or twigs among which they feed, there are birds that adopt the colouring of the soil on which they cower, but with men capable of cultural advance it is just the opposite; and it is precisely this aiming at something above and other than their surroundings that differentiates them from the beasts. There are exceptions. One has heard of a nobleman who studied to look like, and talk like, and think like one of his grooms; but this is a sport on the race, such as ought not to be in a civilised world at all. But it is precisely because the tradesman seeks to look like, live like, think like, and behave like the gentleman, that the entire middle class has risen to the same cultural level that was attained by the highest class a generation or two ago. And this mighty and magnificent upheaval in mind and manner will continue to manifest itself so long as those who stand at the apex of civilisation maintain their high qualities of breeding, courtesy, refinement, and self-respect. Presently Mrs. Jose caught her breath, flashed a frightened glance at Winefred, rose from her chair, surveyed her face in the mirror, sat down again, and looked eagerly at the door. The handle turned, the door opened, and in rustled Mrs. Tomkin-Jones, stiff, stately, cold. Mrs. Jose rose and bowed profoundly. Winefred also stood up. The reverence that possessed the farmer's wife had infected the girl. She looked inquisitively and respectfully at the lady.

Mrs. Tomkin-Jones was tall, wore a 'front' of chestnut with little curls ranged on each side of her brow over the temples, and a lace cap that concealed the junction of the old and real with the new and false. Here again was an instance of that unreality illustrating the upward strain of humanity which aspires to perpetual youth, and resents and disguises the ravages of decay, because it possesses within it the instinct of eternal bloom. Mrs. Tomkin-Jones bent her head and extended a hand in reply to Mrs. Jose's salutation, with condescension in her manner, but so as to convey an unmistakable hint that no familiarity would be allowed.

'I hope, Mrs. Jose, that you enjoy your health as usual?'

'Thank you kindly, ma'am, middling.'

'And Mr. Jose also enjoys rude health, as usual?'