ch salt-cellars, and nut-picks and
crackers to match something else. Moreover, there was a magnificent
opera-glass that required to be matched with theatre-going--_not_ as I
was wont to go, in an old overcoat having its pockets stuffed with old
playbills. But why enumerate?

On the strength of her wedding-presents Lydia became a gladiatrix in
the arena of society. She already belonged to three clubs: she joined
four more--Private Theatrical, a History of Art, a Conversation and a
Suffrage Club. I myself belong to but one, the Cremation Club--am an
officer in that: I split kindlings. As the bordered tablecloth was
suitable for lunch-parties, Lydia entertained her friends at an hour
when I was about town looking up paragraphs, but I have no doubt she
carried it off bravely, and their discussions were as important as
those of a poultry convention on the question of feathers or no
feathers on chickens' legs.

At this time I found that great feasts make small comforts scarce.
Often, on coming home and finding Lydia out, I had Ionic hours alone,
when I refreshed myself with the great shouting, cheering and laughter
of the Greek armies and people that gladden our dull hearts even now,
and for want of anything better I regaled myself on the feasts offered
by Machaon (first Scotchman) in the _Iliad_, and by Nestor, on the
table with azure feet and in the goblet with four handles and four
feet, with gold turtles drinking at the brim from the handles. Or I
supped with Achilles while Patroclus turned the meat on the bed of
wide, glowing embers and the tent brightened in the blaze. Once, when I
was seeking something for that newspaper bore, Woman's Sphere, I
lunched with the Suffragists. Each character of the Suffrage Club was
as clear as a figure cut on a sapphire. The president, a matron of
sixty wearing waving gray hair and dressed in black, with plenty of
white lace under her chin, had the air of a woman used to command a
large family and accustomed to plenty of money and to good society. Her
voice was the agreeable barytone of her years, its thin tones entirely
gone, and her good English was like gentle music: nevertheless, an
occasional strong tone or gesture revealed her determined will. The
Suffragists were handsomely dressed, were self-possessed and
appreciative of each other's company, and were of all ages, one being a
plain young girl quietly looking on and enjoying the world more than a
self-wrapped belle is capable of