She shook her head. “Nonsense! Men are less exacting than you think--and more. They ask neither beauty nor grace nor unselfishness of woman; they demand but one thing--you must charm me. For me you must possess that indefinable quality we call magnetism. Emerson puts it all in a nutshell, voices the essentially masculine point of view:” I hold it of little matter Whether your jewel be of pure water-- A rose diamond, or a white-- But whether it dazzle me with light. “But,” combated the senator, “you must admit that Solomon had ample opportunity to make a study of your sex, and he reserved all his praise for the good woman, averring that her price was above rubies.” Egeria’s smile was faintly cynical. “That was in his capacity as philosopher. As mere man, he gave the rubies and an immortal song to a Shulamite girl who looked at him with youth in her smile and laughter in her eyes.” “A tribute to beauty,” contested the senator. “Not at all. Because she fascinated him.” “And the secret of fascination is beauty,” he triumphed. She refused to admit it. “The secret of fascination lies with the woman who can convince a man that under no circumstances could she possibly bore him.” The senator was still argumentative. “I continue to maintain that beauty is some subtle essence of the soul.” “But the last word, the one word, the eternal word,” quoted Egeria, rising, “is that beauty is----” “What?” he questioned, eagerly. “In the eye of the beholder.” MIS-MATED AMERICANS _By_ Julien Gordon (Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger) [Illustration] Mr. Henry James is inclined to pity American women, because their men--husbands and lovers--are not up to their level of fastidious refinement. We are inclined to ask Mr. James to what American women he alludes. Living in a center which makes history, among men of monumental achievement, of vast intellectual resource, and of comprehensive judgment, I confess that when I first encountered some of these men they seemed to me so lacking in the charms of the drawing room that I asked myself: “How can their women stand them?” When, however, I had made the acquaintance of some of these women, or ladies, the query in my soul became: “How can they stand their women?” Mating and reproduction are largely animal processes, requiring little play of the imagination. If they did, race suicide would never have been heard of. The heroine of “The Garden of Allah” pins a pale Christ over her bed on her wedding night. It has been a late fashion for English and French writers--Verlaine, Mallock, Oscar Wilde, and even that rare genius Robert Hichens--to intermingle religion and spirituality with the sexual instinct. The fact remains that nothing can be more sane or simple, and it only touches fanatical frenzy in minds which border hysteria and decadence.