"I left all pretty fancies over yonder. Mr. Barnett Q. Moss and I are emphatically not anything so silly!" "You left them over yonder?" "Yes, we did!" "In the United States?" "In the U-nited States of America!" "Dear, dear!" said her Grace again. June was now on the Duchess’s shoulder, nestling in soft folds of Irish lace. She sat up eagerly, the better to hear the discourse. "I am a democrat, Mrs. Moss!" the remark came sharply, like a shot. "No, no, Duchess! Impossible!" The poor lady, in sheer amazement, nearly shrieked the protest. Her appeal made the teacups shiver. In her mind’s eye she saw the Duchess waving a red flag, and bawling for rights for somebody. "Yes, a democrat!" Mrs. Moss shuddered, and squeezed her mimic handkerchief into a ball. She pressed her lips tightly together, and listened with horror. "Yes, a democrat--one who believes that all human beings should endeavour to give each other equal opportunities. I did not always think this. Dear me, let me confess, I did not think it even yesterday. Something has happened, something is always happening. The world seems getting topsy-turvy; no, not that; but certainly nearer the stars, without being farther from the flowers. Mrs. Moss, I was a proud and unkind woman until yesterday. But from the instant I penned my invitation to you, my old pride, my old--yes, I must say it--arrogance, obstinacy, emptiness of heart, gradually went from me. It is like a conversion. I am changed, and--a humbler woman. I recognize now, as I have not done hitherto, my personal limitations, and the wrong I do my fellow-creatures when I enjoy great good fortune without making any return to mankind for it." The Duchess was dreamily silent for a little while. A mist was before her eyes. It seemed as if a cold mist had been removed from about her heart. She was no less the great lady for having discovered her older isolation to have been a condition poorer far than this realization of sisterhood with the rest of mankind. Mrs. Moss did not venture on any answer. She was in a curious condition of mixed emotions. Now and then, while her hostess had been talking she had wondered whether some of the words used were intentionally barbed and edged. Why had the Duchess’s old pride begun to diminish when she penned the invitation to her? Was that Miching Malecho? Did it mean mischief? Mrs. Moss fell into a brown study pondering this littleness. She was no fool; her personality was not quite all vanity, joy in wealth, and greed for pleasure. She had a methodical brain, and possibly a heart somewhere under her corsets. The words addressed to her were effectual. "You have not been negligent," at last she remarked gently. "Your name and the Duke’s are on all charity lists. You help good objects with what they ask for--money." The Duchess shook her head. "It was always a proud giving. That charity did not come from kindness, it came from pride."