heard the other day that Boston, getting a
little weary of the Vedas, was beginning to take up the New Testament."

"Yes," said Morgan, "since Tolstoi mentioned it."

After a little the talk drifted into psychic research, and got lost in
stories of "appearances" and "long-distance" communications. It appeared
to me that intelligent people accepted this sort of story as true on
evidence on which they wouldn't risk five dollars if it were a question
of money. Even scientists swallow tales of prehistoric bones on
testimony they would reject if it involved the title to a piece of real
estate.

Mr. Lyon still lingered in the lap of a New England winter as if it had
been Capua. He was anxious to visit Washington and study the politics
of the country, and see the sort of society produced in the freedom of
a republic, where there was no court to give the tone and there were no
class lines to determine position. He was restless under this sense of
duty. The future legislator for the British Empire must understand the
Constitution of its great rival, and thus be able to appreciate the
social currents that have so much to do with political action.

In fact he had another reason for uneasiness. His mother had written
him, asking why he stayed so long in an unimportant city, he who had
been so active a traveler hitherto. Knowledge of the capitals was what
he needed. Agreeable people he could find at home, if his only object
was to pass the time. What could he reply? Could he say that he had
become very much interested in studying a schoolteacher--a very charming
school-teacher? He could see the vision raised in the minds of his
mother and of the earl and of his elder sister as they should read this
precious confession--a vision of a schoolma'am, of an American girl, and
an American girl without any money at that, moving in the little orbit
of Chisholm House. The thing was absurd. And yet why was it absurd? What
was English politics, what was Chisholm House, what was everybody
in England compared to this noble girl? Nay, what would the world be
without her? He grew hot in thinking of it, indignant at his relations
and the whole artificial framework of things.

The situation was almost humiliating. He began, to doubt the stability
of his own position. Hitherto he had met no obstacle: whatever he had
desired he had obtained. He was a sensible fellow, and knew the world
was not made for him; but it certainly had yielded to him in e