“I’ve asked you not to say things like that, Carrie Cora,” said Mrs. Burrell. The old gentleman, who had been looking with a dazed expression at the book-shelves and at the etchings on the walls, now spoke for the first time, turning, with a smile, to Fanny. “Carrie Cora an’ I are the plain ones of the family,” he said. “English is good enough for us.” Mrs. Burrell sank into one of the leather chairs. “Well, it’s kind of a relief to get out of that crowd. You go over there, Emeline, an’ go on talkin’ French with musseer.” The look of distress deepened in the face of the Frenchman, who, however, made a place for the girl. Fanny had edged toward Guy. “Let’s get away,” she whispered. “We haven’t had more than ten minutes alone the whole evening.” Guy’s face brightened. “I don’t believe there’s anyone in the conservatory.” As Fanny started for the door she asked: “Aren’t you girls dancing?” Mrs. Burrell answered for them: “I’ve been urgin’ them, but they won’t.” “I don’t know how,” the eldest girl explained, with a note of resentment in her voice, which her mother at once detected. “I should think you’d be ashamed to say so, Carrie Cora, after all them lessons last Winter.” “It’s too hot in there,” said Gladys, who, being the prettiest, evidently considered that she need not try very hard to be amiable. “Well, good-bye,” said Fanny, unceremoniously. “Come on, Guy.” Mrs. Burrell followed the slim figure with an envious look in her eyes. “Ain’t she the bright little thing?” she remarked, addressing her husband. “I wish our girls was more like her. She’ll marry someone ’way up. You see if she don’t.” “Oh, I guess our girls can hold their own against anyone, Sarah,” Burrell replied. “Well, I’m sure they’ve had advantages enough,” Mrs. Burrell grumbled. “I don’t see why they don’t get more attention, though.” Burrell’s eyes sparkled with irritation. “Well, they get attention enough when they’re to home. That’s where they ought to be.” “I just hate to hear you talk like that, father. You don’t seem to have no ambition for the children.” “I’ve brought ’em up respectable, an’ I’ve given ’em enough to eat an’ drink, an’ I’ve expected ’em to marry decent fellers in their own station in life. I married a farmer’s daughter, an’ I ain’t had no call to regret it; an’ what’s good enough for me is good enough for them.” Mrs. Burrell refused to be mollified by the compliment. “Well, times are changed since then, an’ I guess I ain’t a-goin’ to have those girls’ education wasted. What did we come here to Washington for, anyway?” “Well, that’s the very question I’ve been askin’ myself ever since we landed here. What in hell did we come here for? I wish I’d stayed down in Maine, where I belong. I’m somebody down there. But here the’ ain’t hardly anybody thinks I’m worth speakin’ to. There’s not a man here that’s asked me to have a drink with him to-night.”