s. There is no use in mincing matters; you have talents. I have
always thought so, which is the reason why I have taken so much trouble
to keep you from evil courses. Your father has given me to understand
that you have begun to listen to the voice of experience. I tried to
save you from experience by counsel, but you scoffed at my words. You
have providentially had your eyes opened before it was too late. You
have suffered, and I do not wish to add to your mortification by
reproach. Let by-gones be by-gones, and I trust to hear no more of Mr.
Gale and his associates."

"Dale, Aunt Agnes," I said firmly.

She shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "What difference does it make
whether it is Dale or Gale? You heard what Miss Kingsley said just now
about the unimportance of accuracy in trivial matters. You knew
perfectly well whom I meant. Let me caution you again, Virginia, against
an undue estimate of ceremony and form. It is the spirit that is of
value, not the mere letter. Especially should you bear this in mind in
the society of such people as you will meet on Wednesday evening. The
world is a large place, and only in the circle in which you have been
brought up is excessive regard paid to insignificant details. Sensible
people have other things to think about."

"Does Mr. Spence belong to Boston?" I asked, anxious to find out all I
could about the celebrity.

But this remark was not more happy than the last Aunt Agnes pursed up
her lips and said,--

"If you mean, was he born in Beacon Street, no, he was not. Dreadful as
it may seem to you, I know nothing of either his father or his mother.
But you will learn when you are a little wiser, that genius in order to
be recognized and admired is not obliged to produce parents."

"You misunderstood me, Aunt Agnes. I merely wished to know if he were a
foreigner or not."

"He has lived everywhere I believe, and is cosmopolitan, as all great
men are. He is one of the few characters really worth knowing in our
community. His philosophic and hygienic thoughts surpass his poetry in
worth, in the opinion of the best judges."

"And Miss Kingsley,--does she write at all?"

"Certainly. Did she not tell you that she is the compiler of the weekly
column of fashionable items in the 'Sunday Mercury'?"

"Yes," said I, "but that is scarcely literature."

Aunt Agnes did not answer for a moment. "You have judged hastily,
and consequently have misjudged. If you were to ask me whethe