‘How do you know?’ ‘Because I once got two copies and read all the omissions.’ ‘Why did you do that?’ asked Maude mischievously. ‘Because I wanted to make sure that they _had_ been omitted,’ said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer severely. Mrs. Beecher stooped and picked an invisible hairpin out of the rug. Mrs. Hunt Mortimer continued. ‘There is Byron, of course. But he is so very suggestive. There are passages in his works—’ ‘I could never see any harm in them,’ said Mrs. Beecher. ‘That is because you did not know where to look,’ said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer. ‘If you have a copy in the house, Mrs. Beecher, I will undertake to make it abundantly clear to you that he is to be eschewed by those who wish to keep their thoughts unsullied. Not? I fancy that even quoting from memory I could convince you that it is better to avoid him.’ ‘Pass Byron,’ said Mrs. Beecher, who was a very pretty little kittenish person, with no apparent need of any cosmetics, literary or otherwise. ‘How about Shelley?’ ‘Frank raves about Shelley,’ observed Maude. Mrs. Hunt Mortimer shook her head. ‘His work has some dreadful tendencies. He was, I am informed, either a theist or an atheist, I cannot for the moment recall which—I think that we should make our little course as improving as possible.’ ‘Tennyson,’ Maude suggested. ‘I have been told that his meaning is too clear to entitle him to rank among the great thinkers of our race. The lofty thought is necessarily obscure. There is no merit in following a poem which is perfectly intelligible. Which leads us to—’ ‘Browning!’ cried the other ladies. ‘Exactly. We might form a little Browning Society of our own.’ ‘Charming! Charming!’ And so it was agreed. There was only one other point to be settled at this their inaugural meeting, which was, to choose the other ladies who should be admitted into their literary circle. There were to be no men. ‘They do distract one so,’ said Mrs. Hunt Mortimer. The great thing was to admit no one save those earnest spirits who would aspire to get the full benefit from their studies. Mrs. Fortescue could not be thought of, she was much too talkative. And Mrs. Jones had such a frivolous mind. Mrs. Charles could think and talk of nothing but her servants. And Mrs. Patt-Beatson always wanted to lay down the law. Perhaps on the whole it would be better to start the society quietly among themselves, and then gradually to increase it. The first meeting should be next Wednesday, at Mrs. Crosse’s house, and Mrs. Hunt Mortimer would bring her complete two-volume edition with her. Mrs. Beecher thought that one volume would be enough just at first, but Mrs. Hunt Mortimer said that it was better to have a wide choice. Maude went home and told Frank in the evening. He was pleased, but rather sceptical. ‘You must begin with the simpler things first,’ said he. ‘I should recommend _Hervé Riel_ and _Gold Hair_.’