women are more prudent
and conservative than men."

"No doubt. They are conservatives usually. But when they do go in for
radical measures and risks, they leave us quite behind." Mr. Henderson
did not care to extend the conversation in this direction, and he asked,
abruptly, "Are you finding New York agreeable, Miss Debree?"

"Yes. Yes and no. One has no time to one's self. Do you understand why it
is, Mr. Henderson, that one can enjoy the whole day and then be
thoroughly dissatisfied with it?"

"Perfectly; when the excitement is over."

"And then I don't seem to be myself here. I have a feeling of having lost
myself."

"Because the world is so big?"

"Not that. Do you know, the world seems much smaller here than at home."

"And the city appears narrow and provincial?"

"I cannot quite explain it. The interests of life don't seem so large
--the questions, I mean, what is going on in Europe, the literature, the
reforms, the politics. I get a wider view when I stand off--at home. I
suppose it is more concentrated here. And, oh dear, I'm so stupid!
Everybody is so alert in little things, so quick to turn a compliment,
and say a bright thing. While I am getting ready to say what I really
think about Browning, for instance, he is disposed of in a sentence."

"That is because you try to say what you really think."

"If one don't, what's the use of talk?"

"Oh, to pass the time."

Margaret looked up to see if Henderson was serious. There was a smile of
amusement on his face, but not at all offensive, because the woman saw
that it was a look of interest also.

"Then I sha'n't be serious any more," she said, as there was a movement
to quit the table.

"That lays the responsibility on me of being serious," he replied, in the
same light tone.

Later they were wandering through the picture-gallery together. A gallery
of modern pictures appeals for the most part to the senses--represents
the pomps, the color, the allurements of life. It struck Henderson
forcibly that this gallery, which he knew well, appeared very different
looking at it with Miss Debree from what it would if he had been looking
at it with Miss Eschelle. There were some pictures that he hurried past,
some technical excellences only used for sensuous effects--that he did
not call attention to as he might have done with another. Curiously
enough, he found himself seeking sentiment, purity. If the drawing was
bad, Margaret knew it; if a false note wa