Annan’s interior was riotous with laughter and his features crimsoned with it. But he only gazed inquiringly at his aunt; and the wretched incident waned. * * * * * They went into the library after luncheon. A secretary brought the necessary papers. Annan’s was a cheerful nature. There was no greed in it. In all questions, that might properly have become disputes concerning joint income and investment, he yielded good humouredly to her. There was a more vulgar streak than thrift in Mrs. Magnelius Grandcourt. The majority of rich are infected with it. However, family matters settled to her satisfaction, she seemed inclined to a more friendly attitude. “That was very impudent of you to send me that New York Directory,” she said, “but I suppose you intended it to be a pleasantry.” “Why, no,” he said innocently, “I thought it would gratify you to discover so many people you didn’t care to know----” “Barry! I see nothing humorous in it. Do you think the breaking down of society is humorous?” “Is it breaking down?” “Do I need to answer you? What has become of the old barriers that kept out undesirables? _Once_ there was a society in New York. Is there to-day? No, Barry;--only a fragment here and there. “Only a few houses left where we rally. This house, thank God, is one of them. And while _I_ live and retain my faculties, I shall continue to dictate my visiting list, here and in Newport, and shall properly censor it, despite the unbecoming mockery of my own flesh and blood----” “Nonsense, Aunt Cornelia, it’s only in fun, not ill-natured. I can’t take such matters solemnly. Who the devil cares who you are to-day? It’s what you _do_. You’re no longer a rarity in an uncouth town. There are too many like you--quite as wealthy, cultivated, experienced--plenty of people who can give the denizens inhabiting any of the social puddles a perfectly good time. “There isn’t any society. There never has been a real one since Washington was President. What passed for it you helped boss very cleverly. But it gradually swelled and burst--like one of those wobbly stars--scattered into a lot of brilliant little fragments, each a perfectly good star in itself----” “What you say is utterly absurd,” interrupted his aunt, wrathfully. “By tradition there is and can be only one society in America. Its accepted rendezvous is in New York; its arbiters are so by birth. Theirs is an inherited trust. They are its censors. I shall never violate what I was born to respect and uphold.” “Well,” he said, smiling, “I suppose you really consider me a renegade and a low fellow because I entertain the public with my stories.” “A public entertainer has his proper place, Barry.”