Chinese mandarin, who had rooms at the hotel, going about everywhere
in the conscientious discharge of his duties as ambassador to American
society, a great favorite on account of his silk apparel, which gave
him the appearance of a clumsy woman, and the everlasting,
three-thousand-year-old smile on his broad face, punctiliously leaving
in every house a big flaring red piece of paper which the ladies pinned
up for a decoration; a picture of helpless, childlike enjoyment, and
almost independent of the interpreter who followed him about, when he
had learned, upon being introduced to a lady, or taking a cup of tea, to
say "good-by" as distinctly as an articulating machine; a truly learned
man, setting an example of civility and perfect self-possession,
but keenly observant of the oddities of the social life to which his
missionary government had accredited him. One would like to have heard
the comments of the minister and his suite upon our manners; but perhaps
they were too polite to make any even in their seclusion. Certain it is
that no one ever heard any of the legation express any opinion but the
most suave and flattering.

And yet they must have been amazed at the activity of this season of
repose, the endurance of American women who rode to the fox meets, were
excited spectators of the polo, played lawn-tennis, were incessantly
dining and calling, and sat through long dinners served with the
formality and dullness and the swarms of liveried attendants of a royal
feast. And they could not but admire the young men, who did not care for
politics or any business beyond the chances of the stock exchange, but
who expended an immense amount of energy in the dangerous polo contests,
in riding at fences after the scent-bag, in driving tandems and
four-in-hands, and yet had time to dress in the cut and shade demanded
by every changing hour.

Formerly the annual chronicle of this summer pageant, in which the same
women appeared day after day, and the same things were done over and
over again, Margaret used to read with a contempt for the life; but that
she enjoyed it, now she was a part of it, shows that the chroniclers for
the press were unable to catch the spirit of it, the excitement of the
personal encounters that made it new every day. Looking at a ball is
quite another thing from dancing.

"Yes, it is lively enough," said Mr. Ponsonby, one afternoon when they
had returned from the polo grounds and were seated on the ve