ses, ethical, historical, scientific, literary lectures, the
reading of papers by ladies of distinction and gentlemen of special
attainments--an unremitting pursuit of culture and information. Curiosity
is awake. The extreme of social refinement and a mild Bohemianism almost
touch. It passes beyond the affectation of knowing persons who write
books and write for the press, artists in paint and artists in music.
"You cannot be sure in the most exclusive circle"--it was Carmen Eschelle
who said this--"that you will not meet an author or even a journalist."
Not all the women, however, adore letters or affect enthusiasm at
drawing-room lectures; there are some bright and cynical ones who do not,
who write papers themselves, and have an air of being behind the scenes.

Margaret had thought that she was fully occupied in the country, with her
teaching, her reading, her literature and historical clubs, but she had
never known before what it was to be busy and not have time for anything,
always in pursuit of some new thing, and getting a fragment here and
there; life was a good deal like reading the dictionary and remembering
none of the words. And it was all so cosmopolitan and all-embracingly
sympathetic. One day it was a paper by a Servian countess on the social
life of the Servians, absorbingly interesting both in itself and because
it was a countess who read it; and this was followed by the singing of an
Icelandic tenor and a Swedish soprano, and a recital on the violin by a
slight, red-haired, middle-aged woman from London. All the talents seem
to be afloat and at the service of the strenuous ones who are cultivating
themselves.

The first function at which Margaret assisted in the long drawing-rooms
of the Arbusers was a serious one--one that combined the charm of culture
with the temptations of benevolence. The rooms were crowded with the
fashion of the town, with a sprinkling of clergymen and of thin
philanthropic gentlemen in advanced years. It was a four-o'clock, and the
assembly had the cheerfulness of a reception, only that the display of
toilets was felt to be sanctified by a purpose. The performance opened
with a tremendous prelude on the piano by Herr Bloomgarten, who had been
Liszt's favorite pupil; indeed, it was whispered that Liszt had said
that, old as he was, he never heard Bloomgarten without learning
something. There was a good deal of subdued conversation while the
pianist was in his extreme agony of ex