Later in the evening one of the servants whispered to the hostess that she was wanted on the telephone—the State Department.
She returned to the drawing-room looking as if she had just heard of a death in the family. The guests began considerately to leave.
Her expensive party was a dismal failure. As I have known her husband for years, I asked if I could be of any use.
“It 's too late, now,” he said. “She had the Princess Bibesco and the Princess Lubomirska here and the wife of the Vice President, and she didn't know the precedence they took. She held up dinner half an hour trying to get the State Department and now they tell her she guessed wrong. It 's a tragedy to her.”
I confess I did not feel very sorry for that woman. I remembered my little Indiana girl who introduced the captain to the Queen of Belgium.
I began to feel as if all America were like the De Morgan jingle:
“Great fleas have little fleas
On their backs to bite 'em,
And little fleas have lesser fleas
And so ad infinitum.”
Then I took a trip across the continent, stopping off in Indiana to see my little Y friends. It was like a bath for my soul. Brains count out West. Anybody who tries to show off is snubbed.