chiffon and lace she looked well groomed, and on the promenade and in her carriage no one outshone her in distinction. Distinction, indeed, was the keynote of her personality; and it is doubtful if she would not have sacrificed all other possible gifts to this. An efficient housekeeper managed her twenty servants, her pin-money would have kept an ambitious family of the middle class in affluence, her life was far more luxurious than royalty’s; she was the leader of the most exclusive old set in New York, presided over the most important charities, and yet found time to read the foreign news and play with intellect. With it all she had the rare good sense to be content with her lot and to keep her health. But in spite of this charming personage who diffused ease as with unseen wings, discontent had assailed Fessenden again. The immense dim baronial room, the automatic butler, the catlike footmen, absurdly tall in their livery, the gold and crystal and floral splendor of the table, made him long gloomily for _Pocahontas_ and a “hunk” of Christina’s bread. He was grateful, however, that Mrs. Abbott talked constantly, in her sprightly abrupt manner. She had been educated as thoroughly as an Englishwoman, trained in a deportment which was a nice mixture of reserve and graciousness--Fessenden inferred that she would treat a servant with the utmost consideration, and never permit a liberty from a friend--and she had cultivated the art of conversation, of appearing spontaneous--rarely finishing a long sentence--and of adapting herself to all men, from a reforming drunkard in the slums straight up to royalty. She presently divined her step-son’s mental state, and diverted him by talking of his sister.