ut,' 'We daughters of
Nebraska.' We care about as much, and think about as much of the
especial State we happen to live in, as the county."

"The more's the pity, then," said Lucian. "That State-feeling you
criticise, Rosalie, is patriotism."

"The northern women are quite as patriotic, I think," said Margaret.
"But it's for their country as a whole, not for the State. And for their
country as a whole, Mrs. Spenser, haven't you heard them use fine
language, occasionally? I have; 'Columbia,' and the 'Starry Mother,' the
'Home of the Free,' and so forth."

Margaret had made remarks of this sort a good many times since the
arrival of Lucian and his wife, three weeks before; she compared them in
her own mind to the cushions in bags of netting which sailors are
accustomed to let down by ropes over a ship's side as she enters port,
to prevent too close a grazing against other ships. Not that Lucian and
his wife quarrelled, a quarrel requires two persons, and Lucian
quarrelled with no one; he had possessed a charming disposition when he
first visited Gracias, he possessed a charming disposition still. Nor
did it appear that his wife thought otherwise, or that she wished to
quarrel with him; on the contrary, any woman could have detected
immediately that she adored him, that she had but the one desire,
namely, to please him; her very irritations--and they were many--came
from the depth of this desire.

She was a tall woman, rather heavy in figure, though not ill made; she
had a dark complexion, a good deal of color, thick low-growing dark
hair, heavy eyebrows that almost met, very white teeth, and fairly good,
though rather thick, features. With more animation and a happier
expression--an occasional smile, for instance, which would have revealed
the white teeth--she might have passed as handsome in a certain way. As
it was, she was a woman who walked with an inelastic tread, her eyes had
a watchful expression, her brow was often lowering; her rather long
upper lip came down moodily, projecting slightly over the under one,
which was not quite so full. She had stout white hand, with square
fingers. Her large shoulders stooped forward a little. She was always
too richly dressed.

When Rosalie Bogardus had insisted upon marrying Lucian Spenser the
winter before, all her relatives had shaken their heads; they were
shaking them still. The sign of negation had signified that, to their
minds, Lucian was a fortune-hunter. Not that