Joe was sitting alone in the drawing-room, curled up in an old-fashioned arm-chair by the fire, with a book in her lap which she was not reading. She had asked her aunt for something about politics, and Miss Schenectady had given her the "Life of Rufus Choate," in two large black volumes. The book was interesting, but in Joe's mind it was but a step from the speeches and doings of the great and brilliant lawyer-senator to the speeches and doings of John Harrington. And so after a while the book dropped upon her knee and she leaned far back in the chair, her great brown eyes staring dreamily at the glowing coals. "I was so awfully lonely," said Ronald, sitting down beside her, "that I came here. You do not mind, Joe, do you?" "Mind? No! I am very glad. It must be dreadfully lonely for you at the hotel. What have you been doing with yourself?" "Oh--trying to read. And then, I was thinking about you." "That is not much of an occupation. See how industrious I am. I have been reading the 'Life and Writings of Rufus Choate.' I am getting to be a complete Bostonian." "Have you read it all? I never heard of him. Who was he?" "He was an extremely clever man. He must have been very nice, and his speeches are splendid. You ought to read them." "Joe, you are going to be a regular blue-stocking! The idea of spending your time in reading such stuff. Why, it would be almost better to read the parliamentary reports in the 'Times!' Just fancy!" Ronald laughed at the idea of any human being descending to such drudgery. "Don't be silly, Ronald. You do not know anything about it," said Joe. "Oh, it is of no use discussing the question," answered Ronald. "You young women are growing altogether too clever, with your politics, and your philosophy, and your culture. I hate America!" "If you really knew anything about it, you would like it very much. Besides, you have no right to say you hate it. The people here have been very good to you already. You ought not to abuse them." "No--not the people. But just look at that snow-storm, Joe, and tell me whether America is a place for human beings to live in." "It is much prettier than a Scotch mist, and ever so much clearer than a fog in London," retorted Joe. "But there is nothing for a fellow to do on a day like this," said Ronald sulkily. "Nothing, but to come and see his cousin, and abuse everything to her, and try to make her as discontented as himself," said Joe, mimicking his tone. "If I thought you liked me to come and see you"--began Ronald. "Well?" "It would be different, you know." "I like you when you are nice and good-tempered," said Joe. "But when you are bored you are simply--well, you are dreadful." Joe raised her eyebrows and tapped with her fingers on the arm of the chair. "Do you think I can ever be bored when I come to see you, Joe?" asked Ronald, changing his tone. "You act as if you were, precisely. You know people who are bored are generally bores themselves."