Such was the way of things at Castleman Hall! The wild, care-free people--like half-grown children, romping their way through life! There was really nothing too crazy for them to do, if the whim struck them. Once a visiting cousin had ventured the remark that she saw no reason why people should not eat rats; a barn-rat was clean in its person, and far choicer in its food than a pig. Thereupon “Miss Margaret” had secretly ordered the yard-man to secure a barn-rat; she had had it broiled, and served in a dish of squirrels, and had sat by and watched the young lady enjoy it! And this, mind you, was Mrs. Castleman of Castleman Hall, mother of five children, and as stately a dame as ever led the grand march at the Governor’s inaugural ball! “Major Castleman,” she would say to her husband, “you may take me into my bedroom, and when you have locked the door securely, you may spit upon me, if you wish; but don’t you dare even to _imagine_ anything undignified about me in public!” 15. In course of time Sylvia and I became very good friends. Proud as she was, she was lonely, and in need of some one to open her eager mind to. Who was there safer to trust than this plain Western woman, who lived so far, both in reality and in ideas, from the great world of fashion? Before we parted she considered it necessary to mention my relationship to this world. She had a most acute social conscience. She knew exactly what formalities she owed to everyone, just when she ought to call, and how long she ought to stay, and what she ought to ask the other person to do in return; she assumed that the other knew it all exactly as well, and would suffer if she failed in the slightest degree. So now she had to throw herself upon my mercy. “You see,” she explained, “my husband wouldn’t understand. I may be able to change him gradually, but if I shock him all at once--” “My dear Mrs. van Tuiver--” I smiled. “You can’t really imagine!” she persisted. “You see, he takes his social position so seriously! And when you are conspicuous--when everybody’s talking about what you do--when everything that’s the least bit unusual is magnified--” “My dear girl!” I broke in again. “Stop a moment and let me talk!” “But I hate to have to think--” “Don’t worry about my thoughts! They are most happy ones! You must understand that a Socialist cannot feel about such things as you do; we work out our economic interpretation of them, and after that they are simply so much data to us. I might meet one of your great friends, and she might snub me, but I would never think she had snubbed _me_--it would be my Western accent, and my forty-cent hat, and things like that which had put me in a class in her mind. My real self nobody can snub--certainly not until they’ve got at it.” “Ah!” said Sylvia, with shining eyes. “You have your own kind of aristocracy, I see!”