As the female element was so largely supplied by the ladies Ayr, most of the strangers whom Carter saw about her were men. She had never seen such men as these before, except in a tailor’s picture-plate, and she felt rather a contempt for them, as country-bred people are apt to feel toward those who dress as they have neither the means nor the knowledge to dress. Carter, with her provincial prejudice against fastidiousness in dress, particularly on the part of men, now got some sense of inward support by adopting a supercilious criticism of the exquisitely cared for details of the costumes of these men. She had a standard in her little Southern heart by which she liked to believe that she measured these fashionable gentlemen into puniness. In spite of all her loyalty to a very different type, she could not help feeling lonely and depressed, as she was assisted to mount to her high seat, while the grooms could hardly keep in check the impatience of the four superbly harnessed horses. Carter, who knew the points of a horse, thought the harness rather outdid the horses themselves, but what did her opinion amount to in this company, where she was so evidently a supernumerary and an incubus? It was an uncommonly pretty foot that she put on the ladder to mount, but it had on a very bad shoe. Even the big and clumsy feet of her cousins contrasted favorably with it, for the reason that their shoes were of shiny patent leather, with sharply-pointed toes, which made her little blunt ones look somehow stunted and shabby. But then, again, she had reason to reflect that no one was noticing her! Who has not felt a certain sense of pity on festal occasions, for the friend who is brought? That person seems, somehow, surrounded with a sort of blight among the others who have come by a process of natural selection. But if any heart, under those fashionable habiliments, felt a tender sentiment for Carter, no one showed it. Jim Stafford, himself, was wholly occupied with handling the reins, as they drove through the crowded streets. The Misses Gladys, Ethel, and Rosamond Ayr were making themselves as painstakingly agreeable to the men beside them as if it had been their business to divert attention from all the others present, and the married woman, who was acting as chaperon to the party, was the most cold and unapproachable of the lot--or so Carter had concluded, when one of her cousins had given her a casual introduction to Mrs. Emory, as “Miss Ayr of Virginia.” Somehow, the intonation with which it had been said had given an indefinable offense to Carter, and when other members of the party took it up and said: “Help Miss Ayr of Virginia to her place,” or “Miss Ayr of Virginia comes next,” or “Don’t crowd Miss Ayr of Virginia,” though it was all said in an amiable way, Carter’s sense of resentment deepened. There seemed to be a certain disrespect to her beloved State implied, and that was more than she could calmly bear.