felt the slightest interest
they never felt the slightest doubt. The air they breathed was that
of conviction; the language they talked was that of dogma. The men
and women they knew were the greatest, most gifted, and most
beautiful in the world; the men and women they did not know were
nothing--were beneath contempt. Every one had what Lowell calls an
"I-turn-the-crank-of-the-universe air." In that charmed circle every
one was either a genius destined yet to move the world, or a genius
too great for the dull, unworthy world to comprehend. It was a happy
circle, where success or failure came to just the same.

All in a flutter of delight was Mary Blanchet when preparing to enter
that magical circle. She was going at last to meet great men and
brilliant women. Perhaps, some day, she might even come to be known
among them--to shine among them. She could never be done embracing
Minola for having brought her to the gate of that heaven. She spent all
the day dressing herself and adjusting her hair; but as the hours went
on she became almost wretched from nervousness. When it was nearly time
for them to go she was quivering with agitation. They went in a
brougham hired specially for the occasion, because, although Mrs. Money
offered to send her carriage, and Mary would have liked it much, Minola
would hear of nothing of the kind. Mary was engaged all the way in the
brougham in the proper adjustment of her gloves. At last they came to
the place. Minola did the gentleman's part, and handed her agitated
companion out. Mary Blanchet saw a strip of carpet on the pavement, an
open door with servants in livery standing about, blazing lights,
brightly dressed women going in, a glimpse of a room with a crowd of
people, and then Minola and she found themselves somehow in a ladies'
dressing-room.

"Minola, darling, don't go in without me. I am quite nervous--I should
never venture to go in alone."

Minola did not intend to desert her palpitating little companion, who
now indeed clung to her skirts and would not let her go had she been
inclined. Miss Blanchet might have been a young beauty just about to
make her _debut_ at a ball, so anxious was she about her appearance,
about her dress, about her complexion; and at the same time she was so
nervous that she could hardly compel her trembling fingers to give the
finishing touches which she believed herself to need. Minola looked on
wondering, puzzled, and half angry. The poetess was u