"I would not marry him if I were she," said Selma. "He has given his best to the other woman. He is the one at fault, not Pauline. Why should she sacrifice her own career in order to console him?"

"She might love him sufficiently to be willing to do so, Selma. Love makes women blind to faults. But poor George was scarcely at fault. It was a misfortune."

"He made his choice and was deceived. It would be weak of her to give up her own life merely because he is lonely. We modern women have too much self-respect for that. Love is love, and it is not to be trifled with."

"Yes, love is love," murmured Littleton, "and I am happy in mine."

"That is because neither of us has loved before, you foolish boy. But as to this evening, it wasn't at all what I expected. Are your friends always like that?"

Littleton laughed. "Did they seem to you frivolous and undignified, then?"

"Almost. They certainly said nothing serious."

"It is their holiday--their evening out. They have to be serious during the rest of the week--busy with problems and cares, for they are a set of hard workers. The stress of life is so rigorous and constant here in New York that we have learned not to take our pleasure sadly. When you become accustomed to their way you will realize that they are no less serious at heart because they frolic now and then."

Selma was silent a moment; then she said, "That reminds me; have you found out about our next-door neighbors yet?"

"He is a banker named Williams, I believe."

"I saw his wife pa.s.s the window this morning. She was beautifully dressed. They must be rich."

"I dare say."

"But they live in the same style of house as ours."

"Bankers have mysterious ways of making money. We cannot compete with those."

"I suppose not. I was thinking that she had the same manner as some of your friends this evening, only more p.r.o.nounced. She stopped to speak to some one just in front of the house, so I could observe her. I should think she was frivolous, but fascinating. That must be the New York manner, and, consequently, she may be very much in earnest."

"It isn't given to every woman to be attractive all the time just because she looks in earnest, as it is to you, dearest. But you musn't be too severe on the others."

"On the contrary, I think I shall like Mrs. Williams. She may teach us to be practical. You know that is what your friends would like to have me help you to be, Wilbur."

"Then they did talk a word or two of sense?"

"They said that. Do you think it is true that you are visionary?"

"It is your duty to tell me so, Selma, when you think it, just as I have told you that we can afford to laugh now and then. Come, begin."

"I haven't been your wife long enough yet. I shall know better by the end of another six months."

A fortnight elapsed before Selma made the acquaintance of Mrs. Gregory Williams. It was not a chance meeting. Flossy rang the bell deliberately one afternoon and was ushered in, thereby bridging over summarily the yawning chasm which may continue to exist for an indefinite period between families in the same block who are waiting to be introduced.

"I said to my husband last night, Mrs. Littleton, that it was ridiculous for us to be living side by side without knowing one another, and that I was going to call. We moved in three weeks before you, so I'm the one who ought to break the ice. Otherwise we might have stared at each other blankly for three months, looked at each other sheepishly out of the corner of our eyes for another three, half bowed for six months, and finally, perhaps, reached the stage where we are now. Neighbors should be neighborly, don't you think so?"

"Indeed I do. Of course I knew you by sight; and I felt I should like to make your acquaintance." Selma spoke with enthusiasm. Here was some one whose social deftness was no less marked than Mrs. Hallett Taylor's, and, to her mind, more brilliant, yet whom she felt at once to be congenial. Though she perceived that her neighbor's clothes made her own apparel seem dull, and was accordingly disposed to be on her guard, she realized instinctively that she was attracted by the visitor.

"That is very nice of you," said Flossy. "I told my husband--Gregory--the other day that I was sure you were something literary--I mean Mr. Littleton, of course--and when he found out that he was I said we must certainly cultivate you as an antidote to the banking business. Gregory's a banker. It must be delightful to plan houses. This room is so pretty and tasteful."

"It isn't wholly furnished yet. We are buying things by degrees, as we find pieces which we like."

"We bought all our things in two days at one fell swoop," said Flossy with a gay laugh. "Gregory gave the dealers carte blanche. That's his way," she added with a touch of pride. "I dare say the house would have been prettier if we could have taken more time. However, it is all paid for now. Some of it was bought on the instalment plan, but Gregory bought or sold something in stocks the next week which covered the furniture and paid for a present for me of this besides," she said, indicating her seal-skin cape. "Wasn't he a dear?"

Selma did not know precisely what the instalment plan was, but she understood that Mr. Williams had been distinctly clever in his wife's estimation. She perceived that Mrs. Williams had the same light, half jocular manner displayed by Wilbur's friends, and that she spoke with bubbling, jaunty a.s.surance, which was suggestive of frivolity. Still Wilbur had intimated that this might be the New York manner, and clearly her neighbor had come in a friendly spirit and was duly appreciative of the distinction of being literary. Besides, her ready disposition to talk about herself and her affairs seemed to Selma the sign of a willingness to be truly friendly. The seal-skin cape she wore was very handsome, and she was more conspicuously attired from head to foot than any woman with whom Selma had ever conversed. She was pretty, too--a type of beauty less spiritual than her own--with piquant, eager features, laughing, restless gray eyes, and light hair which escaped from her coquettish bonnet in airy ringlets. If they had met three years earlier Selma would certainly have regarded her as an incarnation of volatility and servility to foreign fashions. Now, though she cla.s.sed her promptly as a frivolous person, she regarded her with a keen curiosity not unmixed with self-distress, and the reflection came to her that a little of the New York manner might perhaps be desirable when in New York.

"Yes, it's beautiful," she replied, referring to the cape.

"Gregory is always making me presents like that. He gave me this bracelet yesterday. He saw it in the shop-window and went in and bought it. Speaking of husbands, you won't mind my saying that I think Mr.

Littleton is very distinguished looking? I often see him pa.s.s the window in the morning."

"Of course _I_ think so," said Selma. "I suppose it would seem flat if I were to say that I admired Mr. Williams's appearance also."

"The truth is no harm. Wouldn't it be nice if we should happen to become friends? We are the pioneers in this block, but I hear three other houses have been sold. I suppose you own your house?"

"I believe not. We have a lease of it."

"That's a pity, because Gregory bought ours on a mortgage, thinking the land is sure to become more valuable. He hopes to be able to sell some day for a great deal more than he paid for it. May I ask where you lived before you were married?"

Selma told her briefly.

"Then you are almost Western. I felt sure you weren't a New Yorker, and I didn't think you were from Boston. You have the Boston earnest expression, but somehow you're different. You don't mind my a.n.a.lyzing you, do you? That's a Boston habit by the way. But I'm not from Boston.

I've lived all my life in New Jersey. So we are both strangers in New York. That is, I'm the same as a stranger, though my father is a cousin of the Morton Prices. We sent them wedding cards and they called one day when I was out. I shall return the call and find them out, and that will be the last move on either side until Gregory does something remarkable.

I'm rather glad I wasn't at home, because it would have been awkward.

They wouldn't have known what to say to me, and they might have felt that they ought to ask me to dinner, and I don't care to have them ask me until they're obliged to. Do I shock you running on so about my own affairs?" Flossy asked, noticing Selma draw herself up sternly.

"Oh no, I like that. I was only thinking that it was very strange of your cousins. You are as good as they, aren't you?"

"Mercy, no. We both know it, and that's what makes the situation so awkward. As Christians, they had to call on me, but I really think they are justified in stopping there. Socially I'm n.o.body."

"In this country we are all free and equal."

"You're a dear--a delicious dear," retorted Flossy, with a caressing laugh. "There's something of the sort in the Declaration of Independence, but, as Gregory says, that was put in as a bluff to console salesladies. Was everybody equal in Benham, Mrs. Littleton?"

"Practically so," said Selma, with an air of haughtiness, which was evoked by her recollection of the group of houses on Benham's River Drive into which she had never been invited. "There were some people who were richer than others, but that didn't make them better than any one else."

"Well, in New York it's different. Of course, every body has the same right to vote or to be elected President of the United States, but equality ends there. People here are either in society or out of it, and society itself is divided into sets. There's the conservative aristocratic set, the smart rapid set, the set which hasn't much money, but has Knickerbocker or other highly respectable ancestors, the new millionaire set, the literary set, the intellectual philanthropic set, and so on, according to one's means or tastes. Each has its little circle which shades away into the others, and every now and then there is a big entertainment to which they all go."

"I see," said Selma, coldly.

"Now, to make it plain, I will confide to you in strictest confidence that Gregory and I aren't yet really in any set. We are trying to get a footing and are holding on by our teeth to the fringe of the social merry-go-round. I wouldn't admit it to any one but you; but as you are a stranger like myself and in the same block, I am glad to initiate you into the customs of this part of the country," Flossy gave a merry toss to her head which set her ringlets bobbing, and rose to go.

"And in what set are your cousins?" asked Selma.

"If you wish to hear about them, I shall have to sit down again. The Morton-Prices belong to the ultra-conservative, solid, stupid, aristocratic set--the most dignified and august of all. They are almost as sacred as Hindoo G.o.ds, and some people would walk over red-hot coals to gain admission to their house. And really, it's quite just in one way that incense should be burnt before them. You mustn't look so disgusted, because there's some sense in it all. As Gregory says, it's best to look things squarely in the face. Most of the people in these different sets are somebodies because either their grandfathers or they have done something well--better than other people, and made money as a consequence. And when a family has made money or won distinction by its brains and then has brushed its teeth twice a day religiously for two generations, the members of it, even though dull, are ent.i.tled to respect, don't you think so?"

Selma, who brushed her teeth but once a day, looked a little sharp at Flossy.

"It makes money of too much importance and it establishes cla.s.s distinctions. I don't approve of such a condition of affairs at all."