“No,” he said, smiling, “we are not fashionable in the ‘400’ meaning of the word, nor are we Bohemians, nor yet middle-class. The set to which I belong, if you must have all the facts--and you have only to command me for all the facts on any subject that I understand--embraces what might vulgarly be called the successful brains of New York--and those of other cities which have come to us to stay. Mind you, I mean successful in the right way: editors, publishers and authors, who aim only to give the world the most fastidious expression of the American spirit, a few artists--although, as a rule, they herd together; but there are several fine illustrators who class themselves with us; also people who do not pretend to give to the public, but who love literature, music, and art of all sorts and prefer meeting people of brains and refinement to associating with a class which thinks of nothing but spending money.” “In short,” I exclaimed, “you are the true aristocracy of New York.” “Yes,” he replied unsuspiciously. “I think we are. There was a time when to be in the fashionable set of New York argued birth and breeding; money was no passport in those days. But to-day there is no other; the ‘400,’ as it is absurdly called, has so few family trees that they could all be stored in one linen closet; it is money, money--and--consequently--the sort of vulgarity one most wants to avoid.” “But many of your set must have money,” I said, determined to get to the bottom of these puzzling distinctions; “all of these cottages must have cost a great deal of money, particularly on top of a mountain with corduroy roads; and the keeper has often let fall remarks from which I have inferred that no economy is practised by your friends.” “Oh, yes,” he replied with that flicker of humour in his eyes and voice which makes him transiently human, “there are several respectable millions among us, but the point is, we none of us are disgustingly rich. We are not known by our wealth, it is not invariably mentioned coincidently with our names, and, indeed, we stand on quite another basis. And many of these delightful people you will meet in a few days are only comfortably off--although they all have enough to entertain with in their own individual fashion.” “You don’t mean that some are eccentric?” I demanded. “Surely you would not countenance eccentricity.” “Certainly not!” he exclaimed, quite as emphatically as I had expected; “no cultivated person ever was eccentric and ‘Bohemians’ are welcome to the monopoly of it for their vulgar advertising. I mean that each entertains according to his--or shall I say her?--means, and manages so to stamp her affairs with her own individuality that one never thinks of the amount expended.” “It sounds very alluring, but a little alarming,” I said. “Do they _all_ come up here?”